


Fallout

by 8LunaFortuna8, Xidaer



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Cake, Caretaking, Depression, First Time, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, References to Shakespeare, Shakespeare Quotations, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Whump, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink, breath play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-07-31 04:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 27,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20108893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8LunaFortuna8/pseuds/8LunaFortuna8, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xidaer/pseuds/Xidaer
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale’s ruse is discovered. They are tricked into confirming it and then picked up by their respective sides to be tortured, mocked, and left to pick up the broken pieces. Their love is still unspoken and now they each feel that growing closer would only hurt them in the end.





	1. Prologue: Strange Bedfellows

**Author's Note:**

> Xidaer's A/N
> 
> Xidaer here!
> 
> When I reached out to 8LunaFortuna8 on her story Oh, Angel (which if you haven’t read yet, you’re missing out), I never imagined it would end up with this opus. 8LunaFortuna8 has been enthusiastic, amazing, and nothing but a joy to work with. I’ve never found a co-writer that I’ve worked so well with; that complemented me so well (and effusively complimented me as well!). To our beta reader and fan artist, Veektrose, we love you (and any mistakes that remain are ours and ours alone) We’ve laughed and screamed and maybe even cried a bit over this fic, and we hope you do too.
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Luna Fortuna's A/N
> 
> HELLO
> 
> I'm so excited to share this with you guys, Xidaer and I have worked very very hard on this for the past two months or so and it's finally ready for human consumption. When she first commented about us working together I never ever imagined we'd end up here- after all, fic writers and fans can be flaky simply because this is something we love doing as soon as we stop loving it there's no motivation to continue, but the pair of us have really fallen in love with Crowley and Azirahpale and we just want to really play around with that because it genuinely brings us joy. Both of us have worked tirelessly because this is, in essence, a labor of love and it really brought us so much joy to write it together and to now present it to you-- and when I say we've worked tirelessly, we really have. There has scarcely been a day the past two months that we haven't worked on it and after all this time, we're ready to release it. It's going to be about 26k words and we plan on releasing a chapter twice a week, probably Wednesdays and Saturdays or something like that (we'll find our stride as we go) :) 
> 
> Anyway, speaking for the both of us, we really hope you enjoy it :)

After the Almost-pocalypse, Tadfield Air Base was, for all intents and purposes, pure chaos. Half of the guards had disappeared mysteriously and the entire computer system was stone dead. Months later, the place had almost gotten back to normal. The very last computer monitor was being delivered and all was quiet. Almost all. Two figures stood against the storm gray sky looking out at the clouds and talking. They were having a discussion about an angel and a demon.

“He did what?” said the taller of the two, glancing at the other with purple eyes. 

“He asked for a rubber duckie and then asked Michael to miracle him up a towel,” the shorter said. He was wearing a hat that looked remarkably like a fly.

“That wise-ass charlatan.”

“You know, come to think of it, if it was Crowley-- really Crowley, I mean-- he would’ve done that naked. He loves flaunting that he’s got a corporeal form, that he’s been on Earth all this time. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done it,” the shorter one remarked.

“You’re not wrong,” the first said off-handedly. 

Gabriel and Beezlebub had agreed to meet here, on neutral ground, because they had both been fooled by simple foot soldiers and something had to be done. Their respective sides demanded reprimation and they themselves felt slighted.

“So we’re agreed, then? They swapped places somehow?” Beelzebub’s gaze burned into Gabriel’s steely violet eyes. Their fury and resolve matched measure for measure; two sides of the same coin were, for once, one. 

“Yes, and I think I have just the thing to punish your golden boy,” the archangel began with a predatory grin.

Beelzebub gave a bark of laughter, “Funny, I was thinking the same thing about yours.” He offered his hand. “We work together- just this once?”

“Just this once,” Gabriel agreed, still smiling. They dropped hands and looked back out over the sky. A thunderstorm was approaching, and it looked like a nasty one.  
Who knew being in cahoots with a demon could feel this good? Aziraphale, at least, Gabe reasoned. He shook his head and snapped and then the base was silent once again.


	2. Traitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, we were planning to wait until Wednesday but the Good Omens ao3 feed on Tumblr shared our fic so guess what it's coming out early. I guess ya'll will be getting chapter 2 on Wednesday lmao
> 
> Xi is driving right now but she'll be around later to comment  
You lucky sons of bitches, I can't believe we've been tricked into releasing early
> 
> Xi's Tumblr: https://xidaer.tumblr.com/  
Luna's Tumblr: https://existential-angstt.tumblr.com/  
Good Omens ao3 feed (btw thanks for sharing our fic!!!): https://ao3feed-goodomens.tumblr.com/post/186768939252/fallout

For Crowley and Aziraphale, the sun was always shining. While Crowley had kept his flat, neither of them felt comfortable far from each other so Aziraphale had begrudgingly given up some space above his bookshop (“It’s not fair.” ”Would you rather pick up and organize all your books in my flat?” “Point taken”) so Crowley could move in the few things he cared about (his favorite houseplants and the keys to the Bentley) and they lived there together above the bookshop. Azriaphale baked and made cocoa and Crowley cleaned the bookshop from time to time much to Aziraphale’s dismay: “I have a system Crowley!”. On the other hand, Aziraphale was pleasant to houseplants (which Crowley did not like at all). 

They went out for occasional lunches at the Ritz and fed ducks at St. James’ Park. They pretty much lived exactly as they had before the Almost-pocalypse. Except- except they didn't. Despite how much they wanted to pretend nothing had changed, something had. Lots, in fact. When Aziraphale gave himself a paper cut on a copy of Moby Dick, Crowley had practically cursed himself from the other end of the bookshop to make sure Az would survive it. Aziraphale had a minor panic attack when Crowley disappeared early one morning to surprise him with crepes. The truth of the matter was that a) they were both incredibly stupid and b) they were both secretly (but very obviously) in love with the other. 

Neither one would admit it (Crowley doubly so) but the Almost-pocolypse had pulled a few threads loose and there was no stopping it now. 

Aziraphale was sliding the last book back into place after cleaning the highest shelf and he sighed in contentment. But then the ladder wobbled and he tumbled backwards-

Into Crowley’s arms. “Please, angel, be more careful,” Crowley scolded, setting him down on the floor deftly. 

“Crowley? Are you quite all right? You’ve been awfully grumpy lately.” Aziraphale said, a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley shrugged it off irritably and shook his head with a sigh. 

“It’s just-- you’re always getting yourself into trouble and I get a little worn out worrying about you. Silly little mistakes,” Crowley said. He was wearing his sunglasses inside the bookshop, which was more than a little unusual these days.

“Worry about me? Why would you worry about me?” Aziraphale said kindly. It’s as though he were willfully misunderstanding everything the demon said. Crowley scoffed and gave a look that would have been significant if Az could see past those glasses. Crowley was getting more frustrated by the second. 

“You were discorporated during the Apocalypse and if we hadn’t switched faces before they’d abducted us…” Crowley shook his head. Aziraphale wished he could see Crowley’s eyes; if he could, he might have a better idea of what the demon was thinking; of where in the hell he was going with this. On the other hand, the demon thanked his lucky stars that Aziraphale couldn’t see the pain hidden there.

“You know, you never told me what happened when they abducted you. Me, I mean. When they abducted you thinking you were me. What they did, what they said.” Aziraphale looked at him in interest. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he was rather curious. He had been for the past month but every time he considered asking about it, it still felt too close for comfort to pry. 

“Oh, you know,” Crowley said dismissively, not wanting to ruin his angel’s vision of Heaven. 

“Ah, yes, a boring trial I’m sure; my litany of wrongdoings and all, as yours was- I’m sure Gabriel was quite smug.” Aziraphale shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded as he said it.

“Well, you’re not wrong about that,” Crowley said truthfully, still not meeting Az’s eyes.

“But they decided on Hellfire then? Agnes was right on the money and all?”

Crowley heaved a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck, looking down. “Yes, Angel, spot on.” Az kept watching the demon. 

“There’s something you’re not telling me.” Crowley looked up and saw the concern in his face.

“Why wouldn’t I tell you everything?

“I know you’re trying to protect me; you’ve been rather over-protective since you practically forced yourself into my shop.”

“Hey now! Who went and got his angelic ass discorporated? You know we can’t exactly get new bodies issued any more,” Crowley snapped in frustration.

“You’re not gonna drop that, are you?” Aziraphale retorted. 

“Why should I, you bloody idiot?” Crowley was properly angry now. 

“Idiot?! How dare-”

“Yes, idiot! Idiotic enough to think that the angels in Heaven would be kind enough for a trial, that Gabriel would be anything other than the universe’s biggest prick!”

“Well, I never! He may have his faults, but he’s an-”

“But? No buts! You know what he said to you, angel? When I was there as you? He said ‘shut up and die already’,” Crowley said bitterly, as angry at Az as he had been at Gabriel. 

“Why you, you… you lying snake!” Az stuttered. 

“I would never lie to you! Can you say the same?”

Aziraphale, nonplussed, shook his head. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I thought we were partners, but you trusted Heaven over me with Adam’s location. You lied to my face.”

“Crowley, I-”

“No, I know, you’re an ‘angel’,” he said with finger quotes, “-fat lot of good that did you when they were going to throw your ass in Hellfire.”

“You, you cad! Get out! I can’t stand the sight of you!” Aziraphale shouted as he’d never shouted before in his existence. 

“Fine!” Crowley bit, heading toward the door.

“Fine!” 

The door slammed as Crowley stormed off to drive the M-25 at 120 miles an hour in his Bentley. Aziraphale was left standing in his shop alone, wondering what the Hell just happened.

Hours later, the bell rang out from someone entering the shop. Aziraphale ran to see, hoping it was a certain demon as he called out, “Crowley, I’m so sorr- oh, Gabriel.” He paused a moment, not sure what to do or why on earth the angelic superior was visiting. “What a, a pleasant surprise. Back for more pornography?” he said with an awkward laugh.

“I’m afraid not,” Gabriel said with a smirk. “I think it’s time we had a... chat,” he said and snapped his fingers.

With that, the bookshop was empty.

X

Crowley slapped the steering wheel in anger. Bloody holier-than-thou angels. Putting aside the fact that that was actually in the job description, Crowley just couldn’t believe that Aziraphale was still somehow hung up on Heaven despite how poorly they’d treated him. After all they’ve been through, all the ways that Crowley had tried to say ‘I love you’ without words, he thought that his angel could finally abandon them for good. Maybe it was time to finally take the plunge and say the words that scared him so much, to let the chips fall where they may. After all, they’d stopped Armageddon together. Perhaps 6,000 years was long enough.

Twenty minutes later when Crowley had talked himself all the way into it and worked up as much courage as he could muster, the Bentley took a dangerously sharp u-turn and he was speeding back to the bookshop.

X

Crowley burst into the shop, heading immediately to the back where Aziraphale always sat in the evenings (or when especially ticked off), saying as he went, “Angel, don’t speak, I have to say this now, so just listen- I love you, I always have, since the beginning and-“ 

The demon stopped dead in front of Aziraphale’s favorite wingback chair, his face falling. “You’re not Aziraphale.” 

“No, I’m not,” Beezlebub said with a sickly grin. “But I would be happy to get you two lovebirds together. I’m sure he’d love to see you.”

With that, the demonic prince snapped his fingers and the pair vanished from the shop.


	3. Feathers (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xidaer here:
> 
> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments and kudos. Bless you and please continue as it gives Luna and me LIFE :D
> 
> See the bottom note for fan art of this chapter from the amazing Veektrose who can be found also on tumblr at https://dumbcrushedsketching.tumblr.com/
> 
> Welcome back y’all, Here be WHUMP!
> 
> Fan Art: https://66.media.tumblr.com/e4124c56c612b1bc32956e89df129c71/0ecaffe327d3ccfd-a7/s640x960/41e8a4826d0facd8b2d7bb7895cde6c240499adf.jpg
> 
> Luna's A/N  
lmao I stayed up until midnight to post this for y'all so you BETTER SHOUT in the comments. We EXPECT IT.  
Next chapter will be up 8/10/19 unless riots ensue  
Don't think Crowley's going to have all the fun. ;)

“Where are we?” Aziraphale said as he looked around the filthy room. 

“Oh, come now, Aziraphale! Surely you recognize Hell,” Gabriel said with an expansive gesture taking in the rust and dirt stained walls, the exposed pipes carrying foul ichors Satan knew where, and the general stench of death, decay, and brimstone. “After all, you were here before. Not too long ago, in fact.”

The white-haired angel’s jaw dropped and he stammered, “How-? I, me? Whatever do you mean? I’ve never-”

“Lies don’t suit you, Aziraphale. Of course, nothing much does,” Gabriel said, dropping his arms and turning his full gaze upon the angel in question. “Rubber duck ring a bell at all?” 

Blue eyes filled with fear- they knew. Both sides knew. Both sides knew and Aziraphale had no way to warn Crowley. Crowley. Were they going to grab him too? Az glanced around for an escape route but Gabriel wasn’t stopping his tirade now.

“And where better to torture someone?” Gabriel said, smiling. Aziraphale stumbled backwards. The archangel’s hand snapped forward, grabbing Aziraphale’s throat and lifting him off his feet, “And who better to torture someone...” Gabriel said as Aziraphale’s visage flowed over him. Aziraphale’s feet were only just brushing the floor; he threw up a hand to claw at Gabriel’s wrist. “Than the angel who he so dearly loves?” he finished in Aziraphale’s voice. With that he let Az fall to the floor, leaving him gasping and clutching at his bruised neck. 

“You,” Aziraphale coughed violently as he tried to get words out “You- you can’t do this, he’ll know. We’ve known each other for six thousand years. You won’t get away with this.” 

The false Aziraphale looked down with a sneer. “I already have.”

X

“You heard me, Angel.” What had been an endearment from Crowley sounded like nails on a chalkboard coming from Beelzebub. “Watch,” the Prince of Hell ordered. “If you turn away or close your eyes, he’ll get holy water instead. And I’ll know if you close your eyes.”

Aziraphale stood manacled in front of one-way celestial glass, perfectly able to see and hear the love of his life coming slowly back to awareness. Aziraphale had often wondered what he looked like under all those clothes, but he never wanted this to be the way he found out. Crowley was nude- all pale skin and red hair dusting his chest with a trail from his navel to his cock, his black wings unfurled. He was similarly manacled, but his arms were stretched up over his head by a thick chain attached to the ceiling. Golden eyes fluttered open, bare to the world, taking in the empty room, to which Crowley introduced himself with a very irritated, “Well, fuck.”

With that, the false Aziraphale stepped into the room. “Language, Crowley,” he chastised. “What will the other demons think?”

“Angel?” Crowley squinted at him in confusion. 

Aziraphale gasped and yelled out, “No, don’t listen! That’s not me!” When Crowley didn’t react, he shouted it again, this time louder, fists pounding on the glass.

Beezlebub walloped him on the back of the head and said, “Shut up, angel. He can’t hear you. Besides, you’re going to miss the good part.” And it was true, Crowley couldn’t hear them, but Aziraphale still clung to hope that Crowley would realize the deception, that he’d somehow know it wasn’t really Az-

But Crowley was all too willing to listen to the false Aziraphale’s mockery, all the little doubts that had plagued him over the centuries.

“Oh, my dear Crowley, who do you think turned you in?” the false Aziraphale said so sweetly, hands folded in front of him. “You wanted me to be on our ‘own side’? Betray Her and all Her angels, for what? Life of domestic bliss with you?” 

Crowley gaped at him, eyes wide, “But I thought-”

“Thought what? You’re a snake, Crowley. Meant to be crawling at everyone’s feet, nothing more than a scaly pest. It’s your fault the apocalypse started in the first place, that the world came so close to ending. Your fault!”

“Angel, no, you know I didn’t want to-” The false Aziraphale cut him off with a mirthless bark of laughter.

“Dressed in all black, blasting Queen wherever you go? Your big bad demon facade, hiding nothing but a scared, lying drunkard. You don’t want to be a demon, to do your damnable job, the position you chose at the start of this celestial chess game. I chose the winning side, you didn’t. It’s as simple as that. Did you think that this little experiment in decadence on my part meant the same for me as it did for you? That somehow you’d tempt me away from my fellow angels? For what little you can offer?” 

“Experiment?” Crowley’s voice cracked as he said the word. The real Aziraphale couldn’t see straight anymore; he was leaned against the partition, unable to turn away, breath fogging the glass, hands pressed uselessly against the window as though he could push through it with sheer force of will. 

“You didn’t know?” The false Aziraphale said with mock contrition. He walked close to the chained demon, cold blue eyes meeting gold filled with unshed tears. “I never cared for you. It’s fundamentally against my nature to love a demon, the complete opposite of what I am. You were convenient, though; you did my dirty work. All the things getting in the way of Heaven’s plans, all while I kept my wings clean.” 

“Speaking of wings,” the false Aziraphale continued, walking behind Crowley, “I don’t think you’ll need yours anymore…”

Crowley craned his neck back trying to keep his love in sight, straining against his bonds and suddenly very afraid, “You can’t mean that, Aziraphale! Aziraphale, please! You don’t have to do any of this! Please-”

“Please!” the imposter mocked him then gave a dry chuckle. “I think you’ll find that Heaven can be quite generous with their angels, especially when they aid Hell in the capture of rogue demons. And when I turned you in, oh-- they were very generous indeed.” The false Aziraphale pulled a long iron nail from his waistcoat. “Do you know what this is?”

A look of pure fear washed over Crowley’s face. How could he? How could he?? The real Aziraphale turned back to Beelzebub in terror and said, “You can’t. You can’t do this.” Something had flipped in his gut and he realized he hadn’t experienced true fear before this moment.

“Watch, Angel. I won’t warn you again,” The Prince of Hell hissed with malicious glee in his eyes. But Beezlebub didn’t have to say another word because Aziraphale was already turning back to the glass in abject horror, watching the kind of thing that’s so terrible that you just can’t look away for long. 

False Aziraphale stepped between Crowley’s wings, wrapping an arm around his bare waist, sending chills down Crowley’s spine and between his legs (to his surprised disgust). The imposter whispered just loud enough to be overheard in the viewing room, “Oh yes, it’s one of those nails. I wonder how much it will hurt?” 

The false Aziraphale looked up towards the viewing window as he laid a holy nail of the crucifixion against Crowley’s cheek, burning a line there, making Crowley scream and struggle against the imposter’s steely grip. 

Aziraphale cried out in tandem, pounding on the glass, begging for mercy he knew wouldn’t come. Beezlebub chuckled behind him, clearly enjoying this as much as Gabriel was. 

“Delightful!” the false Aziraphale’s voice rang out. “This is going to be more fun than I realized.”

Crowley looked up with tears in his eyes. “Aziraphale,” he choked out, “I- I don’t understand…”

“Oh, Crowley, Crowley, Crowley,” the imposter began silkily, each time the name fell from his lips he plucked a black feather from his captive’s wings, making the demon gasp. “You disgust me.”

Crowley did all that he could not to flinch as each feather came out. It hurt, but knowing it was Aziraphale doing it hurt so much more than the act itself; then came the nail and the screams, cauterizing each wound, stopping the blood from being more than speckles on the floor. 

The pain itself was blinding, but the roar of the false Aziraphale’s vicious laughter when Crowley first screamed with pain… How could someone so kind, someone who knew him so well… how could someone he loved so much do this to him? The pain he’d felt before, but he almost couldn’t breathe hearing Az laugh like that.

“Stop it, stop it! This isn’t real! It can’t be real!” Crowley moaned. 

“It’s NOT!” Aziraphale wailed behind the glass.

“Oh, but it is, Crowley. It is,” the false Aziraphale hissed, letting loose another cackle. “You’re an ugly waste of space.” Handfuls of feathers were yanked out at each insult. “Worse than pond scum and twice as foul. It’s easy to see why you Fell-- She never loved you, not even when She made you. You’re unlovable and you always will be. I loathe the very sight of you.”

“It’s funny,” the false Aziraphale continued, circling Crowley and giving his wings a blessed break. “I watched you fall in love with me so quickly, so easily-- like falling asleep. You probably didn’t even realize what was happening. And I did everything I could all these years to twist that to my advantage, to Heaven’s advantage, because it was useful... but mostly because it was fun,” he said, giving Crowley a significant look. Crowley dropped his eyes in shame, tears falling down his cheeks against his will. 

The imposter stopped in his tracks and tilted Crowley’s chin up with a finger, looking him in the eyes. “But there’s one thing you never gave me, isn’t there, Crowley?” Crowley and the real Aziraphale were both watching in dismay now, unable to speak or stop it or do anything. “One thing you’ve never done with anyone. Maybe it’s because you can’t.” 

Crowley’s eyes were glazed with tears but his expression was slack. He’d had so much pain he was numb now, completely shut off. Nevertheless, his eyes didn’t stop producing tears.

“Virgin,” the false angel hissed. “Did you think I would wait around for you to give me what I craved? Fulfillment of my lust-- I would’ve fucked you till I broke you and only then would you have ended up here, denuded of your feathers and deflowered by your ‘love.’” Crowley kept his eyes on the floor, tears falling from his cheeks and jaw. 

Aziraphale slumped behind the partition, his voice was broken from screaming, fists bloodied against the glass, but he never dared turn away. His vision clouded with tears until all he could see was a blur, but he could hear every scream with the clarity of Crowley’s beloved surround sound as Gabriel started in again on his love’s black wings.

When his captors dragged Aziraphale away from the window, he was a broken man, and he knew the love of his life would never trust him again. He couldn’t help but imagine the days to come, if they came at all. Crowley looking at him with hatred in his eyes, the way it was meant to be between them in the first place; Crowley flinching any time he entered a room, keeping his distance from Aziraphale for the rest of time. It was too much.


	4. Feathers Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xi and Luna: 
> 
> Thank you so much for all your reads, kudos, comments, and various keyboard smashing. We love you all and please don't hate us for this chapter. Just remember it's got to get worse before it gets better- prepare for angst and eventually, fluff. 
> 
> We're.... sorry?

“Well, that was invigorating!” Gabriel said, rubbing his hands together in delight. “I can see the satisfaction you demons get from your work, Beezlebub.” Letting Aziraphale’s visage slide off of him like water, Gabriel rolled his shoulders and gave a little shake. “But ugh, being in your skin! How revolting.”

Beezlebub yanked the chain from the imprisoned angel’s manacles forcing him to stumble forward for his own amusement; the prince gave a buzzing chuckle, like dozens of flies finding the perfect corpse to devour.

Beezlebub handed the lead to one of his hench-demons and turned back to look at Gabriel. He nodded approvingly towards the torture chamber, with its bloody, feather strewn floor and Crowley passed out limp in his chains from pain. “I think it’s my turn to have a bit of fun.” Beezlebub snapped his fingers and Aziraphale shivered in the sudden chill as his clothes were cursed away. At the same time, the chains around Crowley’s wrists flicked open and he fell to the floor but didn’t stir. “But we can’t have you ruining the game now can we, angel?” He took a filthy rag from his coat pocket and forcefully gagged his prisoner. 

Aziraphale was half-dragged to the torture chamber, strung up where Crowley had been, bare feet slipping uselessly in blood and feathers. Crowley was still unconscious, curled on the floor, chained to a bolt there. He was breathing shallowly with things not unlike raw chicken wings sprouting from his back. Aziraphale couldn’t take his eyes from him, not even when Beezlebub started speaking. 

“You know what he does with his plants?” The prince whispered like a buzzing fly in Aziraphale’s ear. “If there’s an imperfection, he destroys it. Think you can be perfect, not-so-little angel?” he poked Aziraphale in his rounded belly with a long pair of wrought iron tongs, the kind one might see used to move logs in a particularly large fire. “Because once we’re done with you, well, if he doesn’t want to destroy you yet…” He let the statement hang there unfinished. 

Beezlebub glanced to where Crowley was finally stirring and said aloud to the room, “Did you think Heaven would let you get away with stopping the apocalypse without consequences? Did you think that you’d get your reward of torturing a demon without getting your punishment as well, you ignorant angel?”

Aziraphale tried to get his words through the gag, tried to tell Crowley that it wasn’t him before. He tried to shout for the first time that without a shadow of doubt in his mind he loved Crowley but the grotesque gag made everything unintelligible. 

Crowley couldn’t help but shiver in revulsion and pain seeing and hearing Aziraphale and hate himself for it. Crowley knew that the angel was only trying to excuse himself, to make Crowley understand. But despite everything from the last many hours, he still loved his angel; still believed maybe this was just one of his horrible nightmares, that somehow Aziraphale didn’t know what he was doing or saying. 

“Hell doesn’t often get... angelic visitors... so we dreamed up something special for you,” the prince showed off the tongs again. “These were forged in the brimstone lakes of the deepest circle of Hell. They are perfect for withstanding Hellfire… which I just happen to have a spark of here.”

Beezlebub threw the spark and it turned into a towering inferno that boiled the spilled demonic blood from that patch of floor. “Oh don’t worry, we’re more creative than Heaven- we won’t let these flames touch you,” he said with a smirk.

He picked up one of Crowley’s bloody feathers and held it delicately by the quill with the tongs. “Observe,” he ordered cheerfully as he thrust it into the flames. The black feather glowed with molten intensity as it absorbed the pure hate that fed the malstrom, turning bright orange around the edges and sizzling. “Demons are built to be able to withstand Hellfire,” Beezlebub said, turning back towards Aziraphale with the glowing feather, “-but angels are most certainly not.”

Crowley and Aziraphale watched in horror as the feather grew closer to the angel’s skin. Aziraphale could feel the white hot heat coming off of it from where he hung and he trembled in fear, his feet scrambling to find purchase on the filthy floor. 

Crowley didn’t halfway realize what he was doing when he struggled against his chains, unable to rise from the bolt and screamed out, “No! No, please no!

“No?” Beez questioned with a smirk. He snapped his fingers and an equally filthy gag filled Crowley’s mouth, choking him. “I’m so sorry, Crowley, you really don’t get a say in this anymore.”

The prince of Hell took the still molten feather and pressed it against Aziraphale’s neck, just above the pulse point. It disintegrated as it came into contact with his holy aura, branding him with an imprint of the feather. Aziraphale’s muscles all spasmed and his entire world whited out in pain. Crowley took in the stench of burning feathers and roasting flesh, and retched behind his gag, hot tears forming at the smell and the idea this was being done to his angel. He gave another almighty tug on the manacles, but they wouldn’t budge. He had to sit there and watch-

Beezlebub gave an exaggerated pout at the task ahead. “Well, we’d better get to work-- awful lot of feathers to get through and all.” Then he smiled a smile so full of cruelty and malice that the entirety of London woke suddenly from nightmares of all the nastiest things Hell could offer.

Slowly, feather by molten feather, a pattern of twisted burns was etched into Aziraphale’s flesh. Crowley had always wanted to see his angel nude, to wrap his wings around him, but never like this. This monstrosity of screaming and pain, each new burn ripping open slightly as Aziraphale wrenched his body as far from the tongs as possible, blood running in rivulets over the skin yet unmarred. It took all the evil curses of Hell to keep the angel from blacking out from the sheer immensity of the agony. Crowley was half-deaf from all the screaming and he couldn’t tell anymore if it was his or the angel’s.

An eternity passed before Beezlebub stopped; Aziraphale was covered in charcoal laced imprints from his neck to the tops of his feet, and there were still feathers left to burn. “Shame this treatment wouldn’t work on you, Crowley, you could be a matching set. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Beelzebub snapped his fingers and Aziraphale crumpled to the floor, unchained but still bound at the wrists. The Prince of Hell crooned over Aziraphale’s broken body, too softly for Crowley to hear, “Remember this, angel, demons can’t feel love. We’re incapable of it. You think he’s followed you around all these centuries because he cares for you? No, you’ve been useful, that’s all.” He picked up a feather with his fingers and twirled it in Aziraphale’s face. “It would be quite a feather in his cap to tempt an angel to fall.” With a sneer, he snapped his fingers and the tortured celestial pair were cursed back to Earth.


	5. Our Side is No Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xidaer:
> 
> Thank you for all your kind comments and kudos and bookmarks. We cherish every heart we’ve violently ripped from your chests with our words. And now we take them and grind them beneath our angst ridden heels. Please mind the tags and know it has to get worse before it gets better. We love you all <3 <3 <3
> 
> Luna:  
Hey guys, gals, and non-binary pals! We really hope you enjoy this chapter, I especially have been going through a bit of a rough time lately and every comment/kudos helps! We love hearing from y'all and we hope you enjoy :)

One second, the two of them were in Hell being tortured and the next they were falling out of mid-air in the center of the summoning circle in Aziraphale’s bookshop. Crowley and Aziraphale hit the floor with a heavy thud and both laid there on the hardwood for a moment before they could breathe again. Crowley stretched out one injured wing to cover Aziraphale before he had realized what had happened-- and that’s when he finally got to look at his wings properly. Bare, torn things that didn’t even resemble wings. Two protrusions from his back, nothing more; he would never fly again. Crowley pushed away the thought and pulled himself to his feet painfully, stumbling over to Az. They both needed a bath to wash off the dirt and grime-- they didn’t exactly have unlimited corporeal forms to burn through anymore and fighting a demonic infection would be nasty work. 

Crowley scooped Aziraphale into his arms, not bothering to check if he could walk. He held the battered angel against his chest as though he weighed no more than a small bird. Aziraphale had his hands tucked together in front of him, cradling something. 

“Aziraphale? What is that? What’s in your hand?” Crowley said, glancing between the angel and the dark corners of the bookshop to make sure no one was hiding out of sight, looking for round two just for giggles. Aziraphale begrudgingly uncurled his fingers and revealed a single raven-black feather. Crowley froze as he looked at it, shadowed by Aziraphale’s half closed hands. It was Crowley’s-- one of his secondary coverts, one of the smaller ones.

“I saved one,” Az croaked, holding it as though it were the Holy Grail. Crowley choked back the surge of emotions in his chest and continued up the stairs with Az still in his arms. Aziraphale didn’t protest being carried, being uncharacteristically silent as he wrapped his arms tightly around Crowley’s neck, the feather clutched in his fingers. 

In the bathroom, they both sat crumpled against the bottom of Aziraphale’s clawfoot tub as the shower head sprayed over them unheeded. Water streamed down their faces like tears, but they had cried themselves dry in Hell. In another world there would have been the same hesitancy at touch, but lingering glances and an accidental brush against the other would dissolve those walls quickly. Here they were locked within themselves, too caught up in their own anguish to even open a dialogue, let alone their bodies.

Crowley sat with his knees pulled in, long arms wrapped around them, trying to make himself small, careful not to touch the angel. He held the little black feather in his hand, spinning it in the stream of water. He remembered the rain on the first week of the world, the fat droplets gliding off his feathers as Aziraphale protected the rest of him. Over the years, he’d made fun of Aziraphale’s attention to fashion, but he had been just as fastidious about his wings. He made sure to care for them at least once a month, rubbing them down with protective oils and smoothing out the feathers. He’d never do that again, either. And now he’d be the one protecting Az instead of the other way around.

Aziraphale was caught in his own head as much as Crowley was, reliving the events of the past few hours as though he couldn’t process what had actually happened. He couldn’t stop the images flashing through his mind; Crowley hanging from the ceiling, the crucifixion nail being dragged across his skin by-- well, him. No, by Gabriel acting as him. But it didn’t matter- Crowley didn’t know that and how could he ever believe it after the show they’d put on? Aziraphale ached everywhere- there was no way to move without pulling at the burns, the water running to the drain a dirty black from soot and tinged red from the still oozing wounds, but the ache in his heart was worse than all of it.

The hot water eventually ran out, and they sat shivering as the temperature dropped and the steam dissipated. Frigid, teeth chattering, Crowley reached out and turned off the water and stood on unsteady legs to get out. Aziraphale didn’t move, still staring at the bottom of the now dingy tub. “Angel,” Crowley said softly, trying to break his friend’s thousand yard stare. “Aziraphale, we need to get out. The water’s gone cold.” Nothing changed; Aziraphale sat barely breathing, seemingly catatonic. 

Crowley risked a gentle touch on the angel’s shoulder only to be met with a flinch and scream. “DON’T TOUCH ME!” Crowley jumped back a step but Aziraphale was still trembling, shrinking into the tub as much as he could. 

Crowley withdrew and knelt on wet tile, hard ceramic biting into his bony knees as he wrapped his arms around himself. It didn’t necessarily hurt much because everything hurt. He looked back at Aziraphale. Az was staring at the bottom of the tub but he wasn’t really seeing any of it and his eyes were filled with tears again. They were hardly discernible from the shower water as they slipped down his cheeks. 

“Angel, it’s all going to be okay. We’re home now. We’re-”

“Shut up.” 

Crowley was so stunned that he did. But Aziraphale wasn’t finished. 

“Shut. Up. I can’t- I can’t take it from you!” he had looked up at Crowley now and his eyes were cold, colder than the demon had ever seen them. “I-” a sniffle, “I-- just… don’t pretend. Don’t act like you care. I know you hate me now. Why wouldn’t you hate me?” He shook his head so sadly, white blonde curls slicked down against his head. 

“‘Our side’,” he continued, “What does that even mean, ‘our side’? All we have on our side is pain. All it’s caused us, all we’ve gotten from leaving-- just… pain.” Aziraphale looked back down at the bottom of the tub. Crowley opened his mouth to say something but Aziraphale added, “At least you’ve got holy water. I haven’t got anything. I’m stuck. Forever.” The last word was hardly more than a whisper, but Crowley still caught it. 

Crowley had a sudden understanding of the very human sensation of having a lump in your throat, something he’d never really felt before, although he was certain now he didn’t like it. He looked up at Aziraphale with a shuddering breath but Az didn’t meet his eyes. For a second, Crowley couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t mean-- he couldn’t have just said-- but of course he did. Crowley remembered seeing the hollowed eyes of the tortured souls in Hell, the way their gazes begged for a death that wouldn’t come, anything to end their suffering. Crowley swallowed uncomfortably and decided to try again. 

“Please, angel.” 

Aziraphale flinched at the word “angel”, at how it echoed in his head and how it had proceeded the most blinding pain he’d ever known. He stayed in the tub, still folded into himself.

Crowley got to his feet slowly and pulled one of the towels down from the wall; it was soft and white and fluffy. It reminded him of the sweet, innocent angel who’d marched into Hell for him; he didn’t know who or what it was he’d brought back. 

He held it in his hands for a moment before approaching the tub with all the caution of a lion tamer and draped it as gently as he could around Aziraphale. Az still flinched but he didn’t shout again and Crowley didn’t push it. Aziraphale moved slowly, mechanically, and pulled the towel close without tightening it against any of the fresh wounds. 

After careful evaluation of how much it was going to hurt, Aziraphale stood up. Several of the brands around his hips and legs tore in protest and welled with fresh blood. He grimaced slightly but gave no other reaction to the pain. With a towel slung around his own hips, Crowley moved forward to help him step out of the tub, holding out a hand to help Az step down. 

“Let’s get you fixed up, Angel.” Az shuddered slightly at the endearment. Crowley tried to miracle up some bandages and nothing happened. 

“That’s odd.” He snapped again. And again. “Ang- Aziraphale, can you do a little miracle for me?”

“What’s the point?”

“Please, Az, humor me.”

“Oh, alright.” He took a moment and then his eyes slowly widened in horror. There was another pause. “Nothing is happening! I can’t, I can’t.” Az stared at his hands and started breathing too quickly, too much; he was hyperventilating. 

Crowley put his hands up in an attempt to calm the angel. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ll just run to the store-”

“The store? The store?!” The whites were stark around Aziraphale’s eyes. “We’ve been stricken from our holy powers and you say you’ll just run to ‘the store’ as if the five and dime has God’s Grace on discount today. No, Crowley, no, I will have no part of this charade, I am done. Done with talking, done with hope, there’s no point.” Aziraphale stalked from the bathroom to the bedroom, laying down on the bed, heedless of the blood seeping into the linens and his wet hair soaking the pillow.

Crowley braced himself on the bathroom sink, fingers digging into the porcelain as he looked into the mirror, deep into his own snake eyes. Aziraphale wasn’t wrong, but falling apart wasn’t going to help either of them. He took a deep steadying breath. Whatever had happened down there, in Hell, and whatever was going to happen, here and now, he had to keep it together for Aziraphale. Whatever Aziraphale had done… he had to have done it for some reason right? Not because-- 

No. I can’t think about this now. Not now. Later.

Aziraphale was laid out on the bed, bleeding into the sheets; he couldn’t let any of that come between them for now. Soon enough, maybe, but not now. Crowley snapped his fingers to clothe himself and then exhaled in frustration.

Ah. Right. 

He’d just have to see what he could find in Aziraphale’s closet, Satan forbid. 

Crowley half tip-toed out into the bedroom (considering he hadn’t a clue about how to act around this new Aziraphale) and pulled open the closet door. Inside were a couple dozen outfits from the past two or three centuries, sandy tan combinations oriented just enough with the times that Aziraphale could blend in enough as fashions changed. 

Looks like beige is the new black.

Crowley selected one of Aziraphale’s pale blue button-downs and a pair of tan trousers before realizing he also needed shoes and grabbing a pair of Az’s sturdier house slippers. The angel himself had curled into the tightest ball he could manage- the fetal position- and had his eyes closed with his arms in front of his face as though to shield it from the world. Crowley opened his mouth to say something, anything, but no words came out and he shut it again. He left without a word, glancing back at his angel once more before disappearing into the night.


	6. A Desperate Life Line of Chocolate Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xidaer here! 
> 
> Thank you all again for your kudos and comments- please keep them coming! We adore you <3

Crowley couldn’t ever remember looking so ridiculous but he hardly cared at this point-- at least he had his sunglasses (Crowley kept endless spares in the glove box of the Bentley and was infinitely more comfortable with them on). He was at the pharmacy sweeping through the aisles, looking for anything even potentially useful. He had only gotten through the pain medicine and cold remedies before hitting the wall labeled “First Aid”. The sheer expanse of it was overwhelming. Were humans truly so delicate? Were angels? His lips compressed into a firm line and he started shoveling the shelves of bandages, gauze, and burn ointments into his cart. He had no idea what he’d need, so he would just have to get some of everything.

The night cashier glanced between the cart full of first aid supplies and the strange man in ill-fitting clothes that clearly weren’t his own but didn’t say anything, not even about said man wearing sunglasses at night. The cashier saw all types and Crowley wasn’t even the strangest. 

“Will that be all, sir?”

“Ye- No, this too,” Crowley said, adding a little pre-packaged piece of cake from the impulse rack. It was chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and chocolate sprinkles, just the thing for his angel. If anything could help, it was this. Crowley knew he couldn’t really fix any of this with a slice of cake, but at least it held a chance of helping the process a little. 

  
  


X

  
  


Aziraphale had his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He listened to his own breath, then to Crowley swishing around the room, opening the closet, pulling on clothes, slipping down the stairs and out the door- 

Aziraphale’s eyes opened. Everything was dark. Crowley was gone-- and he wasn’t sure for how long. How long had he been laying here? Had Crowley left him? Really left him? For  _ good?  _ Had he stayed just long enough to make sure Az was tucked up in bed and then… abandoned him? He wouldn’t blame him, if he did-- after all of this. Aziraphale got up and slunk back into the bathroom, not really thinking much about what he was doing as he climbed back into the bath. 

Aziraphale hardly noticed himself turning on the showerhead and sitting in the bottom of the tub. He was wrapped around himself, rocking back and forth until finally the screams and sobs started flowing like the blood. “FUCK!” It was one thing to trick Heaven into leaving them alone and another to have Heaven rebuke him entirely, to show their true colors. If angels could be so foul, what did that say about him? What had Crowley said about Gabriel? ‘ _ Shut up and die already’ _ ? “HOW COULD YOU?!” He sobbed to God. If angels were really capable of all this… if they weren’t created to uphold the side of the light, what was the  _ goddamn point?  _

And both sides knew where they were- Aziraphale, anyway. He had no idea if or when Crowley would return. How would he live if this was always hanging over his head? The constant threat of more torture, of no one to protect him? Of constant pain and torment from anyone he’d ever trusted or cared for? 

“Aziraphale?” 

Aziraphale jumped at the sound of his own name. Was he dreaming? Or had he never left Hell? Was this a new test? Some new brand of torture? Crowley came around the corner and padded into the bathroom with bunches of shopping bags, dressed in his clothes. Definitely torture then.

“Angel, what are you doing back in the bath?” Crowley dropped the bags and ran over to shut the water off. Az flinched but didn’t say anything; he was shivering again. He didn’t want to give in and say anything or look at Crowley in case it really  _ was  _ a trick. Crowley grabbed another fluffy white towel and pulled it around Aziraphale, who looked up at him in confusion. 

“You came back.” Aziraphale’s voice was more broken than he would’ve liked. 

“‘Course I came back, what’d you think, I’d just-” Crowley stopped himself as he realized that’s exactly what Aziraphale had thought. Crowley shook it off and helped the angel out of the bath, Az dripping onto the floor. Crowley grabbed the last of the clean towels and used it to dry off Az’s hair and face as he sat him down on the closed lid of the toilet. Aziraphale had been trying to hold himself together once he’d realized that Crowley really  _ was  _ back and it seemed he didn’t plan on going anywhere, but once the demon started pulling out bandages to wrap the angel up tight, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. 

Aziraphale burst into tears and wrapped his arms around Crowley’s waist, burying his face into his belly. Crowley petted his white-blonde curls as Aziraphale sobbed into him. Crowley noticed red seeping through the towel from two spots on Az’s back- right where his wings would manifest. Crowley’s blood boiled at the sight. He pulled up the terrycloth and saw that those two marks were deeper than the others- perhaps being burned two or three times with feather after molten feather. It couldn’t be said that Beezlebub wasn’t an artistic bastard when it came to torture.

“Angel,” Crowley began gently. Aziraphale just clutched at him harder. It wasn’t as if they’d never been physically affectionate with each other, but this had an air of desperation as if Crowley would disappear the moment he stopped touching him. Besides, after all that had just happened, the nickname provoked flashbacks to Beezlebub’s teasing. “Angel, I need to dress these-” Aziraphale shook his head, hiding his face as much as he could in Crowley’s borrowed shirt.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said more sternly as he pried the angel’s arms from around him, looking down into Aziraphale’s face, flushed and blotchy from crying, “I  _ have _ to dress your wounds.” Crowley tried to force as much meaning as he could into that sentence. It was a plea that said if only he could protect Az now, then maybe he wouldn’t feel like such a failure for being helpless in Hell.

“Please, angel, let me help you.” Crowley said, almost as though he expected to be talking to a brick wall. Aziraphale closed his eyes, took a deep, fortifying breath, and nodded. That was all Crowley needed to start ripping open packages of bandages and burn ointment. 

He dressed Aziraphale’s back, but as he was wrapping the gauze around his torso, he found another deep wound right above Aziraphale’s heart. Beezelbub always did have a sense of dramatic irony. The flesh around it was red and inflamed but at least it had stopped bleeding. Crowley’s heart broke and he suddenly wished for his sunglasses (which he had left downstairs, as he normally did when entering the bookshop), anything to give himself some distance from this tragedy. Aziraphale stared directly at Crowley while he paused to dress that mark; his gaze disconcerting and silent, as if waiting for Crowley to change his mind, to leave or hurt him.

Finished with the angel’s torso, he moved on. Aziraphale flinched as Crowley lifted his chin to access the first mark Beezelbub had given him. “I’m sorry, angel,” Crowley said in response, “but I’ve got to do this.” The deep imprint jumped as Aziraphale’s pulse sped up- although from fear or pain, Crowley couldn’t tell. He tried to be quick as well as thorough, his stomach knotting at every micro-expression of pain or worry that flitted across Aziraphale’s face. 

The bathroom floor became littered with plastic wrappers from all the gauze. Crowley swept a spot clear so he could kneel before his angel and start on his legs. They seemed a bit better than the rest of him, maybe because Beezelbub had grown tired of his game.

He saw to his dismay that he had missed the worst of the marks because it was on the inside of Aziraphale’s thigh, hidden by the towel Az had in his lap. Crowley almost caught himself being angry that Az hadn’t said something. Of course he hadn’t said anything-- he couldn’t imagine what Beezlebub had been thinking when he’d put that there.

“Aziraphale,” he said sternly, then added softly, eyes flicking up to Az’s, “please.”

Aziraphale’s shoulders dropped some of their tension and he let out a breath. The demon tore open another roll of gauze as he reluctantly stretched his leg out so that Crowley could tend to it. Blushing furiously, Aziraphale was careful to keep his modesty with the towel. 

“Is there anything else I’m missing?” Crowley asked, pointedly looking at the towel.

“Um,” Aziraphale began hoarsely,” no, ah, Beezelbub said,” he paused, looking away, mumbling quickly, “he said that I was too small to waste a feather on.”

The demon remembered suddenly that Beezlebub had whispered to the angel about halfway through and something sizzled deep in Crowley’s chest; undiluted hatred. “Oh, love… that fucking bastard.” Crowley said fiercely, his eyes burning with Hellfire.

Aziraphale’s tears overflowed again, streaking his cheeks. Crowley found himself wiping them away with his thumbs. He wanted to be reassuring, wanted to confess his love, but the words caught in his throat. He couldn’t believe this being had tortured him; he knew it had to have been a trick, but knowing and  _ knowing  _ were such different things. He needed time to sort himself out, too. Figure out how it all fit together and how he’d manage after all this.

Looking rather like a mummy and holding a towel around his waist tightly, Aziraphale let Crowley help him back out to the bedroom so he could ease into bed. 

Crowley started edging towards the door. “I’ll be right downs-”

Aziraphale reached out a hand and gave him a pleading look, something in his eyes asking Crowley to stay, everything short of asking verbally. It hurt, but Crowley just couldn’t be in the same room as his broken love any longer-- not now. He needed air, he needed  _ space _ . “I’ll be right downstairs,” Crowley finished. Aziraphale didn’t try to ask again, instead sitting up on the bed and clutching the sheets closely as he watched Crowley shift away. What had Az been thinking? Of course he couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him-- he should have been grateful Crowley came back at all. Still, it made his stomach twist in a really unpleasant way. 

Crowley paused just before shutting the door, peeking through the crack once more, but he couldn’t bring himself to go back. The door of the bedroom clicked shut with a resounding echo.


	7. Into the Bottle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xidaer A/N  
Thank you so much as always for all the lovely comments and kudos. A special shoutout to @Morgendaemmerung89 for egging us on to make this chapter as introspective and angst-ridden as possible. Without you, I think we would have taken it too easy on Crowley ;)
> 
> Luna's A/N: 
> 
> lmao hey guys. It's been a while since I've been "around" around. This chapter doesn't have that much too it except straight angst, so I hope it fulfills your need for the next few days. I will actually be moving back to college this coming saturday (the 24th) so we're going to do our best to make sure the updates do get up on time. Our next project is going super well, it's just going to be a lot of work and it's probably going to be about 293028490923 times darker than THIS fic so if you want straight-up sadness, keep an eye out for that. Let us know what you loved about the chapter and stay groovy!

The bookshop was as well lit as ever but it felt too dark and too cramped. Crowley needed a  _ drink.  _ Sure, he couldn’t snap his fingers and he definitely didn’t want to go out to find alcohol and leave Aziraphale again (not that there was much money from the cash register left after his pharmacy excursion) but his angel friend had  _ quite _ the wine cellar. Wine wasn’t a personal favorite but he wasn’t really planning on drinking for taste. 

Crowley grabbed the first bottle he could see in the dark cellar and checked to make sure it wasn’t a Châteauneuf-de-Pape (in case Az needed it in the coming days). Luckily, it was a lovely old red, something that would bite back a little bit unlike those dainty whites Az usually fancied. Crowley grunted in agreement and popped the cork, taking a swig. 

_ Delicious.  _

The demon climbed back up the musty steps and took a seat in Aziraphale’s wing-backed armchair by the mantle. One of his favorite first editions was still sat on the table, a paper bookmark notched between the pages almost lazily. The image made his heart stutter. How long would it be before Aziraphale recovered, physically  _ or  _ psychologically? How long would it be before Az could smile again, before he was anything like he used to be?

Crowley sipped at the wine, white knuckling the neck of the bottle. Of course Crowley would be okay, he was never  _ not  _ okay. Az, on the other hand-- Aziraphale had only ever had to deal with passive abuse, at cruel words thrown his way, but never torture (as far as Crowley knew). Hell had always been open about their shitty employee treatment policy. As he’d told Aziraphale in Paris, his lot didn’t send strongly worded letters; corporal punishment was as common in Hell as celestial harmonies were in Heaven. At least as common as when Crowley thought of Heaven, of the  _ real  _ Heaven he’d known from back when he was an angel. That Heaven was nothing like that cold skyscraper he’d found himself in disguised as Aziraphale. He’d always remembered Heaven as warm and forgiving and… well, happy. Not… not Hell’s attic. 

_ You cruel bitch,  _ Crowley thought bitterly, glancing up at the ceiling and wishing God could feel his anger. He knew without a doubt that She could but he just wished She’d  _ do something about it _ . Strike him down or something. Creating something so soft, so innocent and then putting it in the care of something that would destroy it? How did God in Her right mind create something as  _ precious  _ and  _ beautiful  _ as Aziraphale, knowing what the forces of Heaven and Hell would one day do to him? Crowley had always been able to excuse his own suffering-- he’d rebelled against God; he’d chosen this path. He’d had to make his own happiness but Aziraphale… Az didn’t deserve that. He hadn’t deserved a single thing that had been done to him.

Crowley’s happiness had been Aziraphale for a long long time, but maybe not anymore. Aziraphale… the cold look in his eyes, in Hell and after the bath, were almost too much to bear. He took another drink and tried to let the alcohol warm him against the cold despair that threatened to swallow him up. He remembered every action, every word, even the shiver that had run down his spine when the angel had wrapped an arm around his waist. It was a hot knife of shame in his guts, to have his love and lust so brutally twisted. Had he really known, all this time? All 6,000 years, since the first time Crowley had gotten butterflies over Aziraphale? Had the angel really…  _ played  _ him like that? How could he? If Az had known for as long (or even longer) that Crowley cared for him, how could he-

Not even a demon could have dreamed up a torture as horrible as that. He tilted the bottle and let the last drops fall into his mouth. Fuck, he wanted this to be a dream, a feverish nightmare, but the burn on his cheek still ached and knew that the torture was real even if his denuded wings had been put away, forgotten about for now. He shuddered remembering Aziraphale’s cruel words to him, an ‘experiment’; ‘disgusting’ and ‘unlovable’.

_ Virgin,  _ echoed a little voice in the back of his head. Crowley shook his head. Aziraphale would never say that to him, no matter the circumstances. Aziraphale, the naïve bastard, probably didn’t even know he  _ was _ a virgin. Throughout the centuries, Crowley had been careful enough to make it  _ look  _ like he’d done everything (especially to Az, whom he always wanted to impress). So, if he’d been as careful as he thought over time, why would Aziraphale ever presume that? Hell, of course, knew the truth-- Beezlebub, for one, saw through most of Crowley’s bullshit. That came simply from knowing someone for 6,000 years and being the slightest bit clever.

Crowley knew something didn’t add up- maybe it had been something about the way Aziraphale had moved, the way he’d circled him almost predatorily earlier. Whatever it was, it was especially un-Aziraphale, and Crowley’s mind wouldn’t let go of those little details that stuck out to him. And then it hit Crowley. It couldn’t have been him in Hell. It had to have been a trick, right? Yes, a trick. No, wait- not “a trick”, THE trick. Crowley’s golden yellow eyes widened in realization at exactly what his drunken self was implying. Gabriel and Beezlebub had figured it out, so why  _ wouldn’t  _ they use it against them? No, accusing them of the switch hadn’t been enough, these were celestial beings-- they had to  _ have fun  _ with it. 

So it wasn’t Aziraphale who had tortured him. Easy enough to come to that conclusion when he was alone and  _ free,  _ away from holy nails and wing-plucking and those cold blue eyes that were just a little too much. Crowley licked his lips and thought a bit harder; he was definitely beginning to feel the wine. That’s why Aziraphale had looked so desperate when they’d dragged him into the room; he had been trying to tell Crowley it wasn’t him. They must have made him watch from somewhere; that’s the only way he could’ve known.

He hiccupped and dug the heel of his hand into his misty eyes at the memory of Az’s expression earlier that day, the pure pleading in his eyes that somehow he would know; the same look he’d given Crowley upstairs an hour ago. And after all that… Crowley could see the molten feathers again as though he were really looking at them. Crowley knew what torture could do to someone. What if the Az he knew and loved was gone forever? What if… he’d been broken beyond return? What if he’d never find joy in earthly delights again? Never read another book, listen to any of his favorite music, dance the gavotte, eat another slice of cake.... The cake!

Crowley had forgotten to give the chocolate cake to Aziraphale. And he could definitely use it. The bottle of wine was long gone by now, so Crowley pushed it aside and stood up. 

_ Woah.  _

Not to say that Crowley hadn’t had a proper drink since the Apocalypse but he certainly hadn’t been drunk. He snapped his fingers lazily and frowned at them when he remained inebriated. 

“Bollocks. Right.” 

Crowley took it one step after the other, trying to stop the floor from shifting under his feet. He traced his fingers over the walls and edges of tables to give himself a sense of balance. Clinging to the bannister as he traversed the stairs, Crowley finally made it to the bathroom. It was just as wrecked as when they left it, bandage wrappers and blood stained towels all over the floor. He dug through the plastic bags he’d dumped unceremoniously on the tile and found his prize. The cake had gotten a little jostled on the trip home and it was quite warm but it was the thought that counted, right? Wasn’t that the saying? Crowley was too drunk to remember. 

He cracked the door to the dark bedroom, shushing at the squeak the hinge made. The floorboards were mercifully silent as he stumbled into the room. Aziraphale appeared to be fast asleep, and he wasn’t going to wake the angel now. Crowley set the pre-packaged cake on the bedside table as softly as he could and looked upon the angel once again. He had crawled under the sheet and had the pillow pulled over his head. 

Before he knew it, tears were trying to form in his eyes again. 

_ Stop it! _   
  


He swiped angrily at his eyes and looked over the poor broken thing that lay in the bed. 

_ I’m going to take care of you. I swear. The rest of your damned life.  _

Crowley knew he was already quite drunk and probably just being a love-sick fool but somewhere deep in his heart, he knew he meant it. Aziraphale rolled over in his sleep, exposing his face. It was thankfully peaceful, his eyes still closed and his lips slightly agape. Crowley leaned on the headboard, bending to lay a soft kiss on Az’s forehead. He backed away slowly, careful not to trip or bump into anything, and went in search of more wine. 

  
  



	8. Easy to Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! 
> 
> Xidaer here- Sorry for not dropping this at midnight like we normally do- Luna's moving and I, well, I just fell sleep super early :/
> 
> ANYWAY!
> 
> We love all ya'll and your comments/kudos. Thank you for sticking with us and our angsty monster.

The pitcher of water in the back room downstairs looked eerily similar to the one Michael had brought to kill ‘Crowley’ in Hell. It was probably stale, Aziraphale thought blandly, looking at it. The stagnant water had sat there for Heaven knew how long but despite its age and probability of staleness, it was still pristine; completely clear and still and  _ beautiful.  _ If he stretched his mind enough he could pretend it was holy. 

Aziraphale summoned his wings and let his fingers trail over the feathers- still pristine, white, and beautiful. Holy. He shivered at the contact and tucked his arm back against himself, hugging himself tightly.

Why did he even still have them? Why bother? Why was he still an angel if he was nothing _like _them? He was _not_ _one of them_. He could never have done to another angel or demon what had been done to him- never. He had thought, all those years ago, he’d known what being an angel meant, but now… If Heaven, the angels, any of it-- wasn’t what he thought… what did that make him? Was he even really an angel anymore? If Gabriel hadn’t fallen after doing what he did to Crowley, why hadn’t he Fallen? How easy would it be to just… Fall_?_

To denounce Heaven and those monsters they called angels, to give up his place as an agent of God and let his wings burn black. He’d be more like Crowley, who was so much stronger than him, and then they could be together-- if Aziraphale didn’t decide on a holy bath after all that time. All he would have to do is just-

“Aziraphale? Aziraphale!” Crowley’s voice was edged on panic. When his head popped over the top of the railing upstairs, he looked incredibly worried and his golden snake eyes were widened in distress.

“Down here,” Aziraphale called, his eyes still roving over the pitcher of water. What must Falling feel like? Crowley would know, he could ask Crowley- No. Mustn’t ask that, too many nasty memories, probably. What a terrible thing to ask someone. 

Crowley half-slid down the stairs in his hurry. He’d woken up with only bloody sheets beside him, and after the last time Aziraphale went missing, he panicked. He was still wearing Az’s clothes, the blue shirt rumpled and stained with Azirphale’s dried blood, but he didn’t exactly have a change of clothes lying around. 

Crowley was brought up short when he found Aziraphale. He was sitting with his wings out at one of the little reading tables staring down a pitcher of water like it held all the answers. “What’re you doing, angel?” he said, voice regaining some of its usual rigidity, tugging at his shirt to straighten it out. 

The demon looked like he was about to do the walk of shame home from (an admittedly rough) one night stand. Az blinked slowly at the water and then brought his eyes up to meet Crowley’s. “What’s it like to Fall?” The words were out of his mouth before Aziraphale could stop them. Az dropped his gaze, in shock that he’d actually asked.

Crowley’s bare eyes went wide at the question before he could school his face into a more neutral expression. He blinked at the angel a few seconds, flicking up eyes up to check that his angel’s wings were still white, before responding. “Why- why would you want to know about that, angel?” 

“Just wondering, really.” he said, looking back at the water. “We’ve known each other for 6,000 years and I’ve never asked.”

Crowley swallowed and took a deep breath, sliding into a nearby chair. “Well… for one thing, it hurt. It hurt a  _ lot,  _ actually. We were all stood up there in Heaven, looking up and waiting for God to give some kind of reaction to old Lucifer standing up to Her, and uh… everyone sort of screamed at once because all of our wings burned at the same time, turned black and everything. We couldn’t believe it, we were all looking ‘round at each other... I still remember their faces, so shocked that… that She’d done it. It was like they didn’t remember who they’d been dealing with this whole time and some of them only realized it was a mistake just then. And then…. We Fell.”

“To Earth?”

“Yes, to Earth. It seemed like it was a million miles an hour-- I’ve flown up and let myself freefall before, just to see, and it was nothing like…I mean, you’re falling from Heaven all the way down and your wings have just been burnt to a crisp so while the air feels good, it also hurts, like  _ a lot, _ and I remember watching the sky as we fell and feeling Her leaving me. It got so cold, by the time we hit the ground we were completely numb, and we couldn’t breathe anymore, and-” Crowley broke off at the uncomfortable expression on Aziraphale’s face. 

“Yes, we landed on the planet-- like asteroids. We went underground later, but we were on Earth first for a little while. Ah, those days, everything was just chaos. Sure, Lucifer was there to command the troops but when the troops are all sobbing their eyes out like schoolgirls, it’s a bit rough. They pulled themselves together pretty quickly, given what happened. But that’s pretty much it. Not much to it-- really not a very good story. I should tell you about the time I met Leonardo Da Vinci, now there’s a story-- I’ve never told you that one before, have I, no matter how many times you’ve asked,” Crowley said with a small smile. If he could just see Az smile again, just a little-

“Thank you, Crowley.” Crowley looked up in surprise; Aziraphale just looked very tired and he still wouldn’t meet Crowley’s eyes. 

“What for?” 

“You didn’t have to tell me all that. Falling must have been…. Very difficult for you,” he said resettling his wings behind him. “And you didn’t have to tell me. But you did.” 

Crowley’s response was thought very hard but not heard:  _ because I love you.  _

X

Crowley pretty much left Aziraphale alone for most of the day; Az shuffled back to bed after their awkward conversation about Falling and didn’t really get up for much else. But Crowley needed to go to his flat and he couldn’t just leave his angel there, unattended. What if they came back? Worse still, what if Aziraphale did something stupid while Crowley was gone? Crowley may have  _ pretended  _ he didn’t see the way Aziraphale was looking at that water or the way he was inquiring about Falling, of all things. 

He may have kept his mouth shut about these small worrying facts, but that didn’t mean that Crowley didn’t  _ notice.  _ So it was settled-- he had to go to the flat but he couldn’t leave Aziraphale alone. That only left one option.

Crowley popped his head into the bedroom and looked around. Aziraphale was laying in the huge bed looking so small without his wings, huddled to one side with the sheets all tangled around him, staring at a wall. He looked up at the sound of the hinges squeaking. 

“Wanna go on a field trip?” Crowley asked, straining for levity in his voice.

Aziraphale sighed and turned back towards the wall. “I suppose you won’t go without me,” he stated in a flat monotone.

“Uh, er, no?” Crowley said stepping into the room. He knew he was admitting to more than wanting a companion, that he saw past Aziraphale’s previous questioning, but that couldn’t be helped now.

The angel sat up with a pained grunt. “There’s nothing for it then,” he said with resignation, “If you’d help me dress?”

“Sure, angel.”

X

The Bentley hardly hit 60 on the way to Crowley’s flat but neither of them remarked on it, too lost in their own heads. Aziraphale had only agreed to this out of guilt. He knew that Crowley was beside himself after their conversation, worried he couldn’t leave him alone. The demon had figured out more than he gave him credit for, but the thought of Falling and dousing himself in holy water wouldn’t leave his mind. The fact that Crowley was still taking such good care of him, even after everything that had happened, was like walking over broken glass; shards of guilt stabbing at him with every step. He didn’t want to walk anymore, to go anywhere, but he also knew Crowley couldn’t go on wearing his clothes (as adorable as it may have been.)

Crowley, for his part, found himself drifting back to less than a month ago to when they had swapped looks in fulfillment of Agnes’ last prophecy. Staying at the bookshop hadn’t been a hardship for him, but unlike the bookshop, the pair had never been to Crowley‘s flat together. He found himself disappointed that he’d missed Aziraphale’s first impression of it, but it wouldn’t have made sense to change up their routine. The demon shook his head as though he could banish the thought that way. It was only an idle daydream that did nothing to help them now.

As they rode the elevator to the penthouse, Crowley felt a chill go down his spine. He took a deep breath- they were only a few floors away now, but something smelled off. He reached a hand beside him for Aziraphale. Demonic intuition was a temperamental thing, yet listening to it had saved his ass more times than he cared to admit, and he’d feel better if he had some sort of physical contact with Az in case something was waiting for them up there.

Aziraphale took his hand tightly and knew something was wrong. He had only ever been to Crowley’s flat once, but had spent that evening pacing the hallways trying to be as Crowley-like as possible in preparation for their theatrical debut as each other. The only things he was focused on that night were the swing of his new legs, the cadence of his voice, and wondering what Hell would look like. He hadn’t devoted any time to seeing or exploring his friends flat (he had thought at the time it would be too much of an invasion of privacy) and now he would never get to. 

The elevator doors opened to the penthouse lobby and Crowley’s front door. A door that was literally splintered down the middle from some celestial being kicking it in half. Crowley  stood stock still, brain going as fast as his beloved Bentley trying to weigh the dangers of continuing , trying to gauge if this was a trap. 

Aziraphale dropped Crowley’s hand as the elevator door threatened to close, stepping past him and through the splintered door. “Wait!” Crowley hissed as he shot forward after him, stumbling in his eagerness to get back by the angel’s side. But what Crowley saw in his front room made him freeze. Whoever had been here had known exactly what they were doing-- any of the houseplants Crowley had left in the flat (mostly the drought resistant ones) had been torn to pieces; dirt and leaves and roots strewn everywhere. The shattered remains of Crowley’s collection of sunglasses glittered between the mess. The black glass and twisted frames, like a noxious rose petal path, lead them to his ransacked desk and slashed, overturned throne. His original Mona Lisa was in tatters and there was a huge obsidian knife sticking out of the wall that housed the canvas.

Crowley fell to his knees in dismay, tears filling his eyes. Aziraphale stepped forward with a rustle and knelt beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, totally silent. The crying demon ducked his face into Aziraphale’s shoulder, loosely wrapping his arms around the angel as he sobbed. Before everything, this might not have bothered Crowley so much-- he would have sucked it up and moved on. You couldn’t afford many emotions as a demon, after all-- but now, after everything, it was just too much. Aziraphale petted his hair and shushed him quietly but it was empty comfort, like someone just going through the motions. Crowley didn’t care. He couldn’t breathe and at least Aziraphale was doing his  _ best  _ despite how much he must still be hurting. 

They sat there until their knees felt bruised. Crowley uncoiled himself from Aziraphale and wiped furiously at the tears that had spilled out from under his glasses. Getting back to his feet, he pulled the angel up after him and stepped forward into the chaos. Tearing the last shreds of the painting off the wall, he ripped the obsidian knife from the wall and flung it across the room. Pressing a nigh invisible button in the painting’s frame, the wall behind it swung out. 

The modern looking safe hidden inside the wall looked completely untouched. “Good thing demons are idiots.” He sniffled and spun the dial on the door. The safe clicked and swung open to reveal mounds of cash and several other bits and bobs, including-

“Is that a book?” Azriaphale sounded more like himself than he had in days.

“No,” Crowley said, yanking the priceless relic out of the safe and hiding it swiftly behind his back. Aziraphale’s eyebrows were drawn down in confusion, hurt obvious in his eyes. “It is, okay? But-- it’s for you. It was supposed to be a surprise.” Crowley explained, still hiding the book.

A ghost of a smile flitted across Aziraphale’s face then it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. “That’s nice of you,” Az replied glassily, glancing around the flat and padding down a nearby hallway. Crowley watched him go sadly and pulled the book out from behind his back. He’d definitely have to keep this nearby; Aziraphale was going to need it. He grabbed a duffle from the pile of brick-a-brack created by the demons who had torn apart his flat and placed the book carefully into the bottom before he started shoving in bills on top. The register at the shop was getting low, and without miracles, they were going to have a hard time finding money. 

It was so strange to Aziraphale to feel like such a different person. A month ago he hadn’t liked the sleek black edges and modern fixtures but he was almost numb to them now. Wandering a little further, he found himself in Crowley’s bedroom. The bed was all black metal and silk sheets and at one point in time, Aziraphale could have seen himself there, begging for sweet loving mercy under Crowley’s capable hands. Now it was just a reminder of something that could never be, of longings never fulfilled. He turned away from the painful sight, trudging back up the hallway to where Crowley was standing. The demon had tossed the bag of money onto the floor and he was moving towards his bedroom to raid his wardrobe.

Crowley felt the tension in his shoulders loosen as he saw the demons hadn’t messed with his clothes. Whether they underestimated how much they meant to him or had forgotten about them entirely, hidden back in Crowley’s bedroom, he wasn’t sure, but he was damned grateful. Digging a suitcase out of the bottom of his closet, he packed hurriedly, tucking the edges of shirts, scarves, trousers, and even a skirt into the case and shut it with a ‘click’. Within seconds, he’d stripped out of Aziraphale’s beige and blue clothes and was dressing with relish in his favorite red and black suit. Smoothing out his lapels and grabbing the bag, he strode back out in the front room, where Aziraphale was standing with his hands clasped in front of him, surveying the damage again. 

“All right, angel. We can go home now.” Crowley said, hefting the bags. Aziraphale turned back to look at him as though only half there and nodded solemnly. The two of them trod out the way they’d come in, Crowley throwing one last glance at the ruined flat. He had pretty much cleaned out the closet and the safe was now empty; there was no reason for him to return, between that and everything being destroyed, and Az-

He looked back at Aziraphale. Az still looked like he was in a permanent daze, the way he had since they’d gotten home, but a little bit of sympathetic sadness was breaking through and he almost looked lucid, like he was finally processing what he was seeing. “Crowley, I’m sor-”

“Shh, angel, come here,” Crowley said, dropping the bags and pulling him into an embrace. Aziraphale bunched his hands in Crowley’s jacket and sniffled a little. Crowley hugged his angel, laying one hand on the small of his back and the other he tangled in Az’s white blonde curls. How many times had he held his angel the past few days? How many times had either one of them been in tears? 

Crowley didn’t know how long it was before they untangled themselves and scooped up the bags to leave for good.

X

The Bentley roared through London at it’s usual 90 miles per hour and Crowley reached over to push a cassette into the player. It was Bach; he’d gotten it just before the two of them had been taken, so it hadn’t had time to metamorphosize into Queen yet. “Fugue in D Minor” had only gotten three notes in when Aziraphale hit the square “Stop” button. 

When Crowley cast him a worried glance, he said simply, “I’m just not in the mood today.” 

The demon pressed his lips together in a firm line and gave the Bentley more gas in lieu of responding. It was easy to forget while he was oh so comfortable to be back in his own clothes, that just beneath that ivory suit lay bandages that were slowly soaking through with angelic blood. He’d probably need to change Az’s bandages when they got home. 

As soon as they arrived back at the bookshop, Aziraphale ignored Crowley’s motions towards the bathroom and fell straight back into bed. Crowley huffed in frustration, pushing his glasses more firmly up his nose, and followed Az into the bedroom. Although the sheets were in a state, Aziraphale’s outfit was still pristine so the demon let his plans as nursemaid go for now. It was enough to just to hang his clothes in Az’s closet (the comparison between Aziraphale’s sand colored wardrobe and his black clothes was stark). He realized this was the final task for him to officially move into the shop and all it took was the destruction of his flat and the love of his life. Fuck, he needed a drink. 

“Crowley?” The demon paused on his way out the door and looked over his shoulder. Aziraphale was giving him “the eyes” again. This time he couldn’t bring himself to say no; not after today. Crowley shrugged off his jacket and let it fall to the floor before climbing into bed, crawling on hands and knees to his love. Aziraphale reached for the demon and they sank into one another, wrapped in each other’s arms like the sky was falling. 


	9. Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for all the love you send our way. It warms our hearts and brightens our day.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one- we FINALLY start earning the explicit rating in this chapter!
> 
> And I think I speak for Luna and me both; Please scream in the comments if you're willing and able <3

When Crowley opened his eyes and looked at Az again an eternity later, he noticed the red stains seeping through Aziraphale’s clothes and into the sheets. 

“Angel,” he whispered softly, running a thumb across his cheek, his fingers cradling Az’s jaw. Aziraphale opened his too-blue eyes and looked up at Crowley in question. “Come on, we’ve got to change your bandages.” The two reluctantly pulled themselves out of the bed and walked over to the bathroom. Crowley sat on the closed toilet lid and began setting up a row of gauze and cotton wraps along the edge of the sink. Aziraphale for his part, didn’t argue the necessity and just began to strip off his suit coat, wincing as he did so.

“Wait,” Crowley said, standing, “Let me help.” How many times had he imagined this-- pulling free that silly bowtie, slowly unbuttoning Aziraphale’s shirt, undoing the cuffs and letting it slide from his shoulders to reveal his love’s bare chest. It was still perfect, even wrapped in bandages. Even if the circumstances weren’t what he wanted them to be. 

Soft lights illuminated the pair from over the sink. Were Aziraphale’s eyes always so blue? They were standing so close together, blue eyes meeting gold and chests nearly touching. Crowley unconsciously flicked his tongue out to moisten his lips, his eyes still locked on Az’s. 

Aziraphale held the medical shears up between the two of them and broke the spell. The angel turned his back on Crowley, who eased the shears under the bandages at the nape of Az’s neck, cutting down along his spine.The gauze came away easily but in the process it tore open freshly formed scabs, causing blood to well up. It scared Crowley, how the flesh was still singed and aggravated. They still had a lot of healing ahead of them. The blood, however, only made an appearance around the deeper burns. Finishing with the wing marks, Crowley turned Aziraphale around with gentle hands and sat back on the seat so he could start working on the front of him.

Aziraphale said nothing; he watched his demon work and tentatively, without even thinking of what he was doing, started stroking Crowley’s hair. Crowley couldn’t keep his eyes from fluttering shut momentarily, sinking into the sensation. It both made him melt and at the same time made heat start coiling in his belly, sitting in front of Aziraphale, fingers trailing over his damaged skin. 

It would be so easy to let kisses follow his fingers, to distract them from the reality of their situation. But Crowley was sure he’d hurt Az if he did so. Even though it stoked those fires, he couldn’t bring himself to throw off Az’s hand or ask him to stop, so they stayed like that-- Crowley peeling away soiled bandages and replacing them and Aziraphale petting at Crowley’s hair. Without his sunglasses, Crowley felt vulnerable, like Az would be able to read his mind, somehow feel all the heat that was spiraling through his body, so he did his best to keep his eyes downcast.

“May I?” Crowley said, looking up as he touched the angel’s belt buckle. Aziraphale just nodded. 

Crowley was the perfect gentleman as he slid Az’s trousers down towards his ankles, just enough to get at the bandage on his inner thigh. The demon was doing his very best to keep his head down and hide the blush that was rising in his cheeks, but Az hadn’t noticed for 6,000 years, so why would he now?

Crowley was working on the especially bad burn on Az’s thigh when the angel finally spoke.

“Have I ever told you how pretty your hair is?” Aziraphale said softly and Crowley froze. What was Aziraphale doing? What was  _ Crowley  _ doing? 

“Erm… no, angel,” Crowley said, glancing up at him. Aziraphale was watching him with the fondest look that had ever crossed his face. The demon dropped his eyes again guiltily. Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice. Crowley finished up and Aziraphale removed his hand from the other’s hair so he could stand. Az walked back to the bed, expecting Crowley to follow him, but when he turned around, his love was headed back downstairs. Crowley  _ definitely  _ needed a drink now. 

  
  


X

  
  


Crowley threw open a few cupboards in the back room, not concerned with how much noise he was making. There had to be something in this damned bookshop that was stronger than wine. Ah! Whiskey! That would do nicely. The demon drank straight from the bottle, trying to down it quickly. It burned as he swallowed it, leaving him pleasantly warm. Of course, he had already  _ been  _ pleasantly warm-- hence the drink. He berated himself for his thoughts in the bathroom. He was supposed to be taking care of Aziraphale, not getting a cheap thrill from undressing him. It was just... just so close to his best fantasies, right down to stroking his hair and that fond look that had crossed Az’s face at the end. That look could have Crowley undone at the seams, soft and malleable under Az’s hands-

Crowley shook his head furiously as the heady rush of the alcohol hit him. He fit his mouth around the glass, imagining how it would feel to have his lips open wide around Aziraphale’s cock. It would have been so easy to go to his knees on the tiled floor, Az’s pant’s bunched around his ankles... No, not so fast, Aziraphale would never go so fast. Crowley sat sprawled on the couch, images of holding his friend dancing in his head. He remembered being naked in hell, Not-Aziraphale’s arm wrapped around his waist, suit coat rough against his skin, that unbidden thrill that had gone through him then; what would it be like to have that without fear, really being with  _ Az _ , who would whisper words of love instead of disgust in his ears?

How many times had he freed his cock from his trousers fantasizing about his dear friend? Virgin he may be, but he certainly knew the sin of lust thoroughly. What was it that Shakespeare said? “ Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!  Give me my sin again.” Crowley unbuttoned his shirt, dragging his nails across the overheated skin, his nipples already hard. He took one last swig from the bottle, gulping down the whiskey like it was breath before placing it on the side table. He wanted both hands for this. 

Shifting in his seat, Crowley hissed as he scratched his nails from his belt over his exposed belly up his chest to settle on his nipples. He bit his lip, catching himself in a whimper as he pinched one and then the other, imagining Aziraphale’s mouth traversing the flat plain between the two peaks. He found himself spreading his legs to accommodate his phantom lover. In this world, Az was naked, kneeling, looking up at him with those gorgeous eyes, skin unmarred. 

Keeping one hand at his breast, he brought the other to his mouth, tracing his lips with his fingertips- leaving them tingling. What would it be like to kiss his angel? Would he be gentle, chaste, or would he dive in like Crowley was a dessert to be savored? The demon flicked his tongue out, tasting his own skin and shivered. Oh, he wanted to be devoured, not just the obvious, but his mouth plundered, his neck marked with love bites. He swirled his tongue around his fingers and dragged the wetness from his jaw down the line of his throat. He could feel his pulse speed up as his eyes fluttered shut. It was Aziraphale’s tongue teasing him, Az’s teeth grazing his pulse point, sucking a hickey there, Az murmuring sweet, dirty, loving words into Crowley’s ear.

With an unsteady breath, Crowley unzipped his trousers. His thumb dragged the precum around the head of his cock, which was begging to be touched. But Az would tease, wouldn’t he? Crowley began the long, slow strokes that had his hips canting upward into his lover’s grasp. He bit his lip trying to keep quiet, but he couldn’t help the strangled moan as he imagined tasting the smoky whiskey from Aziraphale’s lips; kissing Aziraphale, both of them drunk on alcohol and passion. 

“Please, Az,” Crowley whispered to himself in the dark, “-please, love, fuck me, take me-” He stroked himself faster, muttering desperately, “-make me yours.” His mind flipped through the mental images he was so fond of. Az, stroking his hair, looking down at him with _that _face. Aziraphale through the years, beautiful and charming. Freeing the grateful angel in France and taking him out for crepes, surprising him seven years later with flowers and chocolates when the angel finally opened his bookshop. All good, warm memories, but he wanted his lover to pull his hair, to bend him over and open him up. It’d be so easy to go from stripping down in the bathroom to stepping into the shower, the hot spray dancing across their skin, the warm mist invading their lungs as their breaths got faster. Oh yes, Az naked in the shower was a pleasant thought, or maybe a teasing, slippery bubble bath… yes, he and his angel sitting in the tub. ‘_Don’t touch me!_” his fantasy Aziraphale cried out, reality bleeding through_._ _No! _Crowley cried in his own head, trying to banish the memory. 

Crowley took a deep breath and willed himself onwards. What about Az’s wings? So gorgeous. He still remembered the seventh day that ever was, the first time he’d seen them, and every time he’d seen them since had been like the first time. When the angel had been staring at the water, he had them out for the first time in ages. Crowley could almost feel the soft feathers against his skin. Fuck, he wanted that- to stroke those feathers, to groom them. He summoned his own wings but instead of feathers, all he felt was the velvet upholstery against the raw upbraided flesh. The full crushing weight of reality crashed down on him and he choked back a sob. 

Oh God, how could he do this with his friend upstairs? How could he do this; his mind flashed to Az strung up naked in hell and he nearly vomited in disgust as he realized where his imagination was getting the unmarred image fueling his fantasies. 

Crowley yanked his trousers back up the best he could, readjusting uncomfortably. He wished he could miracle his clothes back in proper order, or better yet, a huge blanket to bundle and hide in until it all  _ went away. _ Gathering up the whiskey, he chugged down a good quarter of what remained in the bottle. Anything not to think, not to remember how much he hated himself for this.


	10. What Dreams May Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for being such lovely readers <3
> 
> Let the healing begin!

After that, they fell into a pattern of sorts. Aziraphale stayed in bed most days-- he didn’t eat or drink (the dime store cake Crowley had picked up the first night lay on the bedside table, untouched but not forgotten) and barely spoke. Crowley stayed with Aziraphale as much as he could, but once the sleep settled over the angel in the evening, Crowley would drink until he was numb, hangovers be damned. After a while, the sunglasses he favored became far more practical, shielding light from his eyes rather than his eyes from the world.

As their Duffel Money began to shrink, Crowley decided his only option was to reopen the bookshop-- the only catch was that he’d be the one who would have to run it until Az got back on his feet. After figuring out how to do laundry, how hard could this be, really?

“Bugger,” Crowley muttered as another customer came inside, making the tiny bell on the door jingle. He’d spent the better part of the morning nursing his ever present hangover and chasing people out the second they bought something. Aziraphale had protested weakly at the idea of Crowley managing his shop, but not nearly as much as the old Az would have. In fact, the old Aziraphale wouldn’t want the shop  _ open _ if he wasn’t the one running it. But the old Az wasn’t here anymore- and the husk left in his place couldn’t manage the bookshop. It wasn’t like they had any other choice, or Crowley wouldn’t mess with it. 

Crowley couldn’t quite grasp why it was that the angel even had a bookshop; it was obvious he hated to part with his books and customers were just  _ irritating.  _ The demon supposed it was just a cover for how many books Az let himself own; an excuse to tell himself at night when he was literally tripping over books throughout the apartment above the shop.

In actuality, Crowley wasn’t really mad at the customers. He thought humans were rather brilliant, even when they were asking stupid questions and tracked mud on the original hardwood floors. The customers were bringing in the money he and Az suddenly needed to survive; Crowley was just frustrated because his angel was still suffering, even though they’d escaped Hell months ago. Aziraphale wouldn’t eat - not that he  _ needed _ to, but it was distinctly un-Az like - and he slept  _ a lot.  _ It was rare to see him up for more than a few hours, if he left the bed at all. 

But even with all the sleep he was getting, he still looked exhausted. Crowley supposed it was from all the bloody nightmares. He checked on Aziraphale often and about half of the time he’d be a whimpering, sweating mess, closed eyes darting back and forth tracking the terrors of their past. Every time Crowley found him that way, he climbed into bed and soothed the angel back to dreamless sleep, wrapping his arms around Az’s thrashing form and whispering sweet things to him. Most of the time, Az went on sleeping soundly after that but sometimes he’d wake up screaming and Crowley would hold him while he cried.

The nightmares only aggravated Aziraphale’s burns. All the tossing, turning, and writhing around split open the scabs and made him bleed. They’d healed a bit, but not enough; Aziraphale just wasn’t getting better fast enough. Some days, Crowley wondered if the marks would ever heal at all. Maybe Aziraphale would be bleeding until the end of time.

“What do  _ you _ want?” Crowley snapped at the customer who’d approached with a book. The woman set down the book with a nasty look and stormed out of the shop, grumbling about “customer service” and “young people these days”. Crowley snatched up the book from where she’d laid it. It was a book of prophecies; Az’s favorite sort of book. The demon flipped the cover open and glanced at the signature, addressed especially to Aziraphale. 

Something had to be done. Aziraphale couldn’t go on like this. 

The moment the last customer hurried off with her purchase (hurried because Crowley hurried her) Crowley flipped the “open” sign to “closed” and locked the door. This time of day, Az was bound to be… sleeping. He was always sleeping nowadays. When he’d first started sleeping so much, Crowley kept checking on him every hour to make sure he hadn’t up and disappeared again, but he was always there, tangled in the sheets. 

Ducking into the backroom and retrieving the book from its hiding place, Crowley took the stairs by twos and came to a halt in front of the bedroom door. He glanced down at the bound pages warily. It was a second quarto of Hamlet from 1605, all the pages confined in a worn brown cover. Crowley considered it the ultimate gift for Aziraphale, the gift to top all gifts. But was he really going to like it as much as Crowley hoped? Maybe he wouldn’t. 

_ But maybe it will help him get better. It might just work, and if there’s even a chance, I have to try,  _ the rational part of Crowley snapped in annoyance. The demon nodded to himself and pressed a hand on the partially open door, pushing inwards. Aziraphale was curled into a ball at the very edge of the bed as though he couldn’t bring himself to take up space, even in his own bed. Crowley padded over to the angel’s side, his snake eyes thankfully adjusting to the near darkness. 

Crowley didn’t want to wake him when he caught a glimpse of his angel’s face; for once, he was resting easy, his expression a picture of perfect peace. The demon couldn’t resist twining one of Az’s perfect white curls in his fingers, but luckily Aziraphale didn’t stir. The demon circled the bed softly and tucked the book in beside Az. He knew the angel wouldn’t roll over onto it because Az always slept curled into a little ball (at least, he always slept that way since Heaven’s punishment). 

The demon retreated back downstairs to wait for Az to wake up, deciding halfway down the stairs that he would have a drink while he was waiting. 

  
  


X

Aziraphale stared at the book but didn’t open it. When he discovered it in bed with him, he thought there’d been a mistake. Crowley wouldn’t unceremoniously dump the book onto the bed and leave it, not after hiding it like a child at his flat. But when he’d come downstairs to find the demon having a drink by the fire, his wildest suspicions had been confirmed. Crowley  _ was  _ giving it to him. Even though Az had been told repeatedly it really was for him, he hadn’t brought himself to really inspect it yet. 

It was better not to open it, not to think about how overjoyed he’d been when Crowley said he’d make Hamlet a hit. He couldn’t help feeling the demon had done that especially for him (and only for him) and it just  _ hurt.  _ Still, it was a pleasant thing to look at. The cover was soft and inviting and the pages were crisp and faded with age, as far as Aziraphale could tell. 

“Are you going to open it?” Crowley said from his chair, arms crossed over his chest. Aziraphale looked up. The fire from the fireplace cast the demon in a fittingly orange-red glow. 

“Of course I’ll open it,” Az said, but it was without his usual pout behind it. It was more like he was just playing the part of his old self. He turned the quarto over in his hands, admiring how the firelight played off the old leather cover.

“Do you remember that day? ‘Cause I do. It was hot, even for London.” Crowley got up from his chair and crossed the room to Aziraphale. The demon was staring at the book so hard, Az held it out in offer. Taking it, Crowley continued, “-and I mean, for that time of day, there should have been way more people there. I actually went back and saw the whole thing properly while you were in Edinburgh and you said it was one of the somber ones but I thought it was quite funny. That show was sold out and the bard himself wanted to thank me-- so he gave me this. I was always going to give it to you, I just… needed the right moment.” Crowley was flipping through the yellowed pages idly now. The book fell open naturally to a set of pages that had been rifled through many more times than any other part of the book. 

Crowley trailed a nail down the page, tracing the words. He’d always rather liked the looks of words more than he had reading them. “To be or not to be… that is the question,” floated softly out of Crowley’s mouth. He was taking his time with the words, as though he were saying them just for the sake of the words themselves.

“Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer-” Aziraphale continued for him.

“-the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” Crowley finished, “Or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them.” Goodness knows they’d taken arms, but they hadn’t ended things, had they?

Aziraphale took up the refrain. “To die- to sleep, no more; and by a sleep we say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to: ‘tis a consummation devoutly to be wish’d.” The image of the water pitcher flashed behind Aziraphale’s eyes. The trance he’d been in, thinking about Falling and-

Crowley countered, “To die, to sleep; to sleep, perchance to dream- ay, there’s the rub: for in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause- there’s the respect that makes calamity of so long life.” 

Aziraphale was all too aware of the meaning behind the words. Of choosing between life and death, action and inertia; and he knew the harmful choices he’d been making. He and Crowley were still passing the bard’s words back and forth like a dance, like they were the words to some ancient love song the two had penned themselves. 

“To grunt and sweat under a weary life…” Crowley said, looking deeply into his friend’s blue eyes. “But that the dread of something after death, the undiscovered country, from whose bourn no traveller returns, puzzles the will-”

“But Crowley,” Aziraphale interrupted, breaking their recitation, “that ‘undiscovered country’ Shakespeare speaks of is the one we both know too well.”

“Do we, angel? Who’s to say She in Her infinite and ineffable wisdom doesn’t have a place set aside for those of us who truly die? Things have to come to an end, don’t they?” Crowley said closing the quarto.

Aziraphale looked more engaged than he had in weeks. He paused, thoughtful, then said, “I suppose you’re right, dear.” Standing, the angel held out a hand for the book. “I find myself tired. If you don’t mind, I’m going to retire and read for a bit. It’s been awhile since I visited the old bard’s lines.”

Crowley’s eyebrows raised in surprise, then he quickly schooled his face into something more neutral. As far as he knew, this was the first time that Az had read anything in weeks, much less called him “dear”. Maybe there was hope after all?

That night, Crowley didn’t have any alcohol, not even a glass of wine. He didn’t need it.

  
  


X

  
  


The gifting of the quarto had gone better than Crowley could have hoped, and Az started to become himself again. Suddenly he was spending less time sleeping and more time reading-- he worked his way through Hamlet twice before moving on to Shakespeare’s other works. Crowley’s heart practically leapt from his chest as he heard the angel’s soft laughter from the back of the shop as he reached the comedies. Aziraphale would never admit it, but he had always preferred the funny ones, too. 

Crowley still pulled Az into the bathroom regularly to change his bandages. The lighter surface burns were finally starting to look a little better, even if the deep wounds kept bleeding. Every time Crowley had a thought about the fact they weren’t healing fast enough, he waved it away distantly and told himself to give it more time. Physical forms took much longer to do a great many things than their ethereal ones did. Aziraphale still had nightmares, but they were less violent. It was easier to soothe him back to a calm sleep and when Az woke up he was more cheerful and easy going than he had been the past month or two. 

Crowley’s breath caught the day Aziraphale came down into the shop and picked up the clipboard that held the inventory sheets. “What are you up to, angel?” he said tentatively. He was worried that if he called too much attention to it, Aziraphale would leave again, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying  _ something _ .

“I think it’s quite time I got back into the swing of things, wouldn’t you say?” Az said, flipping through the sheets. The angel’s smile dropped a little when he spotted something on the paper. “Oh, please tell me you didn’t sell my 1909 Havard Classics collection?  _ Please?”  _

Crowley looked up guiltily. He didn’t know he wasn’t  _ supposed  _ to sell those. “The lady said she’d been wanting them for a long while and yours were in such nice condition and she paid quite a bit for them-”

“How much?” Aziraphale asked, his eyes narrowing. 

Crowley tried to play innocent, “How much what?”

“How  _ much _ ?” Aziraphale asked again, a trace of venom in his voice. “How much did she pay?” 

“Two thousand pounds. Isn’t that nice?”   
  


“ _ No, Crowley!  _ They were worth twice that!” Aziraphale moaned, looking at the ledger in distress. Crowley could only smile. 

“What are you so amused about?” the angel snapped, his shoulders squaring up as if readying for a fight.

“Nothing.” Crowley smirked, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. It had been so long (he hadn’t realized how long) since Az had been passionate about his shop. It felt like the pieces of Crowley’s heart were carefully being stitched back together. 


	11. Pale Blue Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience in this few hour delay! We love you all~
> 
> Please scream in the comments! <3 <3 <3

Over the next few weeks, a stack of books slowly appeared on the bedside table to join the Hamlet quarto. While Crowley would still catch his angel napping during the day, more often than not Aziraphale would be stretched out on the sun drenched bed reading something purloined from the shop below. Az was actually putting in an hour or two every day in the shop between reading and naps if only, he said, to make sure Crowley sold the correct books at the correct prices. Hiding from customers in the back room, he’d reclaimed his old wing-backed chair- sitting there often enough that Crowley no longer felt a chill down his spine anytime he saw Az’s silhouette, remembering Beezlebub sullening it with his presence. Aziraphale usually pulled his legs up onto the seat in a strictly un-Aziraphale like way and balanced the ledgers on his knees as he went through them. 

While Crowley was strictly hands off, Az would find little excuses to touch the demon. A passing pat on the shoulder, stroking his hair as they continued to change the still-necessary bandages, and even in sleep Az would spoon Crowley, limbs going around him like some great sleeping octopus. Crowley, for his part, tried to tempt him to sushi or dessert at the Ritz, but Az still turned him down. Aziraphale wasn’t eating but would, at least occasionally, drink the hot cocoa Crowley delivered every evening. 

It was Sunday and Crowley had just come upstairs from closing up the shop. Aziraphale was back on Hamlet yet again; he had to have read it six times since it had been given to him. The demon always glowed when he saw his angel reading it; it had  _ definitely  _ been the gift of all gifts. 

The angel had been in bed since morning because it had been a rare sunny winter day and the bedroom had been illuminated and pleasantly warm. Aziraphale caught Crowley’s hand as he turned to leave after refreshing the cold mug of cocoa, pulling Crowley back towards the bed and asked softly, “Cuddle me?” 

Crowley looked at Az’s tousled hair, sheets tangled around his legs, and couldn’t resist his angel’s request. It shouldn’t be all that different from when they were sleeping at night. Slipping off his shoes and jacket, he laid down next to the mostly naked angel. The ever-present bandages were still there, making Crowley tentative about where to put his hands. 

“I’m not going to break,” Aziraphale said gently.

“I bloody well might!” the other snapped, worried about his traitorous body’s reactions. He hadn’t taken himself in hand since that awful night months ago, too afraid of the memories mixing with fantasies.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale stroked his face. “May I kiss you?”

“Um,” Crowley said dumbly, brain shorting out. This wasn’t what he expected at all. His fingers gripped tighter at Aziraphale’s waist, “I suppose that would be alright, yes.” For some reason, he had always imagined himself sweeping the angel away in a passionate embrace for their first kiss. This was anything but that; It was an awkward kiss, just a chaste meeting of lips with their noses bumping, Crowley’s glasses getting smudged as they figured out which way to tilt their heads. It still left Crowley breathless.

“Glasses?” Aziraphale questioned, pulling the offending eyewear off and placing them on the side table. “Please let me take care of you. You’ve taken such good care of me and I know I haven’t been the easiest to live with,” Aziraphale said, blue eyes shining. 

“Oh, Angel,” Crowley said pulling him back in for another kiss. Their eyes drifted shut as their lips met. 

Unbuttoning Crowley’s shirt, Az watched Crowley’s face to make sure he wasn’t going too fast. Laying a kiss on the revealed skin, Crowley took a shuddering breath. 

“You’re sure, Angel?” He carded his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair, enjoying the way the white-blonde curls bounced back into place after his fingers had left them. 

“I’m sure, love.” Aziraphale matched him gaze for gaze. He knelt between Crowley’s legs and worked on his belt and then zipper. Crowley wasn’t hard yet, and Aziraphale raised his eyes questioningly to his soon-to-be lover. “If you don’t want-”

“No, I’m just,” Crowley breathed out a deep rush of air, “I’m just nervous is all. As it’s been said I’m…” The demon had to blink away the memories that flashed behind his eyes. “Well, you know.”

“I know,” Aziraphale said quietly, bringing him back to the moment and placing a reassuring hand out for Crowley to lace his fingers together. “I’ll only go as far as you want.” Crowley gave a nod. “Now, lover, I would like to taste you. May I?” 

“Oh, fuck yes,” 

“That  _ is _ the idea, love,” Aziraphale said, raising an eyebrow and giving his demon’s hand a squeeze.

Az lowered his head to nuzzle Crowley’s flaccid prick, taking in the scent that was, in essence, Crowley. He circled the base of his lover’s cock with his free hand, stroking it gently, coaxing him to relax into the feeling. Once he was half hard, Aziraphale made the demon gasp, licking a stripe from the base to the tip. Swirling his tongue around the head like it was an ice cream cone, Az hummed appreciatively. This flavor so much more alluring than dessert. He pulled away to blow a stream of cool air over Crowley’s twitching member and gave a smirk at the goosebumps it caused to rise over his lover’s body.

“Aziraphale, please don’t tease,” the demon ground out, his other hand grasping at the sheets.

“I’d do nothing of the sort, Crowley.” With that he licked his lips, and slid them down Crowley’s shaft, taking him in, inch by inch until his nose was pressed up against the curly nest of red hair. Crowley’s mouth fell open in a soundless moan, twisting the sheet so tightly he was nearly tearing it and the other gripping Aziraphale’s with white knuckles.

Aziraphale took a moment just to let his lover bask in the heat of his mouth before he began to move, smooth strokes almost releasing his prick completely before devouring him again. He did nothing by half measures, getting Crowley soaking wet, letting the fingers circling his cock slide down to massage his balls. The demon whimpered as his lover hollowed out his cheeks, the powerful suction taking him to new heights.

Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s pulse thundering through his cock and his mouth quirked up at Crowley’s unsteady breaths. As his hips rocked forward, Aziraphale gave him some space to take his pleasure. 

Az moved their paired hands towards the back of his head and Crowley groaned as he realized what Aziraphale was offering.

“Are you-” he panted, “-sure?”

Aziraphale just placed Crowley’s hand more firmly on the back of his head, holding it tightly as much as guiding his lover’s hand. Crowley gripped his white-blonde curls and tentatively started to thrust. With Aziraphale’s encouraging moan, Crowley gripped a bit more forcefully and started to facefuck his angel. His beautiful, blessed angel. He was losing his rhythm, chasing his pleasure with utter trust and abandon, a litany of ‘oh fuck’ falling from his lips. 

Aziraphale redoubled his efforts, meeting Crowley’s hips on every thrust, taking his cock as deep as he was able; he wanted to make his lover come hard and fast. Crowley’s very being was strung out like a piano wire being played by a virtuoso. Every muscle tense in pleasure-

“Az, I’m gonna, I’m- ” he managed and Aziraphale swallowed him down, hands pinning Crowley’s hips as he shuddered and came with a shout. 

Aziraphale licked his lover clean and kissed his way up Crowley’s belly and chest with swollen red lips to capture his mouth. “I adore you.”

“Oh, Az.” Crowley had tears in his eyes and it made Aziraphale’s heart slam to a stop. Crying? No, crying wasn’t supposed to be part of this process. He looked over Crowley urgently, trying to fix it. 

“Did I go too fast?” Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he searched Crowley’s face. 

“Aziraphale, don’t you understand? I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve any of this!” The tears flooded over and Crowley looked down in shame. 

“No.  _ No. _ Get this through your thick skull, you beautiful fiend,” Aziraphale tipped Crowley’s head up with a finger, their eyes locking. “I adore you and you’re worthy of this, of me.” 

Crowley couldn’t bear the intensity and broke the gaze, angrily yanking his head away from Aziraphale’s touch. “Worthy?  _ Worthy _ when I was tricked into thinking you could do…. Do  _ this _ to me.” Crowley letting Az see the things that used to be his wings out for the first time since they’d come home. “What’s a demon without his wings? What am I for doubting you? Useless, gullible, unfaithful, untrusting, terrible, horrible, and yes, bloody  _ unworthy _ ,” Crowley spat with disgust.

Aziraphale pushed him into the bed and climbed on top of him, pinning his arms above his head, what was left of his wings pressed uncomfortably into his back. There was a fire in his eyes as he bit back, “Now hear this, Anthony J Crowley, I  _ do not care _ that you doubted me. That’s what Heaven and Hell  _ both _ worked towards. It took the combined might of the entire celestial universe to make you  _ doubt _ , and even then you  _ still _ tried to protect me when they began to torture me. Do  _ NOT _ forget that.”

Crowley gazed up at him, still reeling from the orgasm and let out a shuddering breath. The setting sun was coming in through the windows and hitting him just so. It looked like a halo was hung behind his head and his eyes were like the sea in a storm. Straddling Crowley’s hips, both of them still flushed from sex, he looked like….

Well, he looked like a  _ goddamned  _ angel, is what. 

Then Aziraphale kissed him. Aziraphale kissed him as though he could draw out all of Crowley’s worries simply by brushing his lips against the demon’s. And Crowley kissed him back like the angel was his salvation, the one thing in the universe that could offer the forgiveness he didn’t know he’d needed.

Kissing down the angel’s jaw and neck, Crowley forgot about the bandage for a moment in his passion and his lips came away crimson.

“Fuck!” Crowley exclaimed “Az, your neck, angel, I’m so sorry.”

Aziraphale winced in pain, managing, “It’s alright, love, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Crowley untangled himself from the angel and climbed off the bed. He ducked into the bathroom in search of more bandages, his hips swinging like anything. He glanced at himself in the mirror; debauched, hair sticking up every which way, and totally completely in love. He licked his lover’s blood from his lips, enjoying the taste. He watched his eyes widen in the mirror. That taste, iron and… sulfur?


	12. Beg, Borrow, Steal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :Swoon!: Thank you for screaming in the comments of the last chapter - you bring us life!!!!
> 
> Lots of love <3

Crowley had left Aziraphale to sleep off their loving exertions while he paced the backroom of the shop. He knew the taste of Hellfire, of the hate it brought to the world, and he never wanted it to taint his angel. But it had. And it had _ lingered _ . The question was how to cleanse the wounds of that hate. Human methods of healing obviously weren’t enough, and why should they be? But it wasn’t as if they could miracle up a cure or ask someone either above or below for advice. Fuck. Their respective sides might not even know how to fix this. As Beelzebub said, it wasn’t as if they got to torture angels on the regular and they certainly wouldn’t heal them afterwards. 

Crowley thought back to that awful night, bound and bloody on the floor, watching the love of his life branded by his very feathers. He scrubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes as if that would clear the vision away. Those molten demonic feathers, glowing bright orange and yellow with Hellfire, extinguished by the holy aura of his angel. 

_ Wait…holy aura? _

Could it be that easy? If Aziraphale’s holy aura extinguished and destroyed the feathers, then why couldn’t the wounds be cleansed by something just as holy?

“Oh, bollocks,” Crowley said with a disgusted grimace. That meant holy water. That was the answer; it had to be. But the question now was how to get it. It wasn’t as if there was a dearth of it around London, yet Crowley would rather take a bath in acid than touch a drop of it. Acid would be safer. 

The words ‘beg, borrow, or steal’ ran through Crowley’s mind. This was Aziraphale; he needed holy water by any means necessary and Crowley wasn’t going to let a little thing like melting into a puddle of really-really dead goo stop him. 

Crowley slipped out of the shop as quietly as he pleased and dug out his old mobile from the glove box of the Bentley. After dialing a few times and getting the same pre-recorded message, Crowley threw the phone back into the seat in frustration. For all intents and purposes, the number to the Witchfinder army was disconnected (due, unbeknownst to him, to the fact that Mr. Shadwell and Madame Tracy had gotten a bungalow in the countryside together). That left him needing to plan a heist without a team. 

He’d been rather busy the last 11 years or so being a nanny, letting old contacts lie fallow and now it was coming back to haunt him. He could go into a church solo; the Blitz had proved that, but hot stepping on holy ground was a damn sight different than hot stepping while trying not to splash death around. 

Technically he wasn’t solo, Aziraphale could...no. The angel upstairs might be a bit better now, but involving him in heists was another matter. Crowley scowled and started pacing again. Would a small vial of holy water even be enough to heal all of Az’s wounds? They would practically need a bathtub of the foul stuff to really cleanse the deep seated ichor that still cursed his angel.

Maybe a baptismal font? No, the act may be holy (Crowley shuddered at the sheer thought) but it wasn’t holy water. That, and it involved coaxing Aziraphale away from the shop. Some days Crowley was lucky if he saw him outside the bedroom.

He could always pay off a priest to bless the tub-- that way he didn’t even have to bother with a team or heist or any of that. Back then, people would have asked questions but these days, you could pay someone to do anything. 

In the end, he settled on a priest, making calls to see if anyone would come and give counsel to a sick friend who was not in their flock but who was quite devout; besides, it’s not even quite a lie really. Any other demon wouldn’t have bothered coming up with a half-truth to tell the priest; of course, any other demon wouldn’t be obtaining holy water for an ill angel. After being hung up on more times than he cared to count, he finally found a priest that agreed to Crowley’s terms (for a small fee of course-- “the church has needs, and all”) and he had only days to plan out how everything was going to go.

  
  


X

  
  


Crowley shut the door as gently as he could manage and his eyes landed on the balcony upstairs. Aziraphale was standing there, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with his fingertips. “What’s going on, my love?” he said, dropping his hands to blink a few times and then looking down at the demon in the bookshop below. 

“Nothing, angel. I’ve drawn a bath for you, why don’t you go get in?” Crowley said, sauntering towards the spiral staircase. Az frowned. 

“What?” Aziraphale said, leaning on the railing and watching Crowley go around and around the staircase until he appeared beside him. 

“A bath? You take baths, don’t you?” Crowley said, glancing towards the bathroom door. 

“Why don’t you join me then?” Az said, his eyes half-lidded and inviting.

“No, nonsense, we’d never both fit, it’s a bit of a small tub, don’t you think, and-”

“Crowley… what aren’t you telling me?” 

Crowley sighed and his shoulders drooped in resignation. If Aziraphale was going to argue about it, best to get it out of the way now. “I’ve thought of something that may help you, angel.” Az looked up in surprise but instead of pursuing the matter verbally, he stalked (as much as an angel can stalk) into the bathroom.

A second of silence, and then a gasp. 

“ _ Anthony J. Crowley, where did you get holy water?”  _ Az fumed. 

Crowley rolled his eyes like they’d been married 50 years and shouted back, “I have my ways, angel.” There was no way he was getting anywhere near the bathroom while there was holy water around. “Just get in, will you? I want to know if it works.” The demon crossed his arms sulkily.

Aziraphale, meanwhile, was staring at the water and recalling the stillness of the water pitcher from a month ago. It felt so  _ different,  _ now-- looking at it and knowing it was holy water, the one thing that could totally destroy one of the Fallen. The one thing that he had looked forward to bathing in not too long ago. Az gulped. What if it didn’t work? What if he’d sunk so low that the holy water burned his flesh as it would a demons? What if it  _ devoured  _ him? 

He knew for certain that he didn’t want that now. The quarto Crowley had given him had, well, not fixed him per say-- he could never be the same celestial being again, not after what they went through-- but it had healed him. Crowley’s gift had done what he thought impossible and brought him back from the brink. And he didn’t want to leave the demon now, not after-- well. If anything, Az owed it to his love to try, after all. 

The angel started stripping off the pajamas he’d carefully procured after he awoke alone. “Please, angel, I’m begging you to-”

“Hush, dear boy. I just need a moment.” Aziraphale frowned down at the tub of water and dipped a finger into it. It was definitely holy water, all right. The angel lifted one foot and set it into the tub. About an inch of one of the burns came into contact with the water just from setting his foot in the tub and when the two met, there was a reaction. There was a loud  _ hiss  _ as though someone had tossed a large bucket of water on a roaring fire and steam rose from the burn on his leg. 

“Angel? Angel, are you all right?” Crowley said, forgetting himself and rushing over to the doorway. 

“Crowley, dear, don’t come in!” Aziraphale said, throwing up a hand in warning. 

The demon watched from the hall as Aziraphale settled into the bath with a gasp, the holy water bubbling and steaming as the vestiges of Hellfire were extinguished. Through the mist, he could see it- the moment his angel’s eyes start with shining holy light, reconnecting with Her Grace after all these long months. Crowley couldn’t blink, even to flush the tears from his eyes. Why exactly he was crying he couldn’t say- he was happy to have his angel whole and he was afraid that now his angel wouldn’t need him anymore, a broken demon with no power- but that logic would come later. Now all he could do was cry and smile and send silent thanks to whoever would listen that the plan had worked.

The steam and hissing had settled, and now it was just Az in a bath, running his hands over his skin, dripping in the stuff that could end Crowley with one drop. He dunked himself completely under, emerging sputtering, curls soaked, laughing, “You couldn’t have gotten it a bit warmer? I think that rubber duck would be perfect about now.”

And miraculously _ ,  _ there was one. 

A lovely yellow rubber duck with a lopsided grin on its orange beak had appeared on the edge of the tub. Az gave a startled peep and jerked back causing the duck to fall into the bath with splash. It bobbed in the holy water, completely unconcerned about the angel and demon gapping at it. 


	13. Always and Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are marvelous, wondrous, AMAZING humans. The reactions to the last chapter were overwhelmingly wonderful and we cannot thank you enough <3 Thank you all so much for reading and commenting and for your kudos. We appreciate it!
> 
> <3 <3 <3

“Did you just-?”

“Yes, I think I might have-”

“Well, do something else, angel!”

Aziraphale safely miracled away every drop of holy water. He was still nude, but no longer bleeding-- just covered in fresh new scars. He stood there in front of the tub, inspecting each new scar in wonder. 

Crowley swallowed thickly, miracles suddenly forgotten. 

“You’re beautiful.”

“Don’t lie to me, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, glancing up sadly.

“I’m not lying,” he said with aching compassion in his voice. Crowley strode over to the angel, his yellow eyes wide. Pulling at one of Aziraphale’s hands, he kissed the unmarked palm of the angel, turning it over to press his lips to the scars. “Every inch of you is beautiful. They may have done this with malice, but they have wrapped my wings around the one person I always wanted to surround. I may have failed to protect you, and I may fail again, but never doubt that I love you and how beautiful you are to me.”

“Oh, Crowley,” he said, tearing up. “How could I ever doubt you?”

They met in the middle with a reassuring kiss, then pressed their foreheads together, Crowley’s hand on the back of Aziraphale’s neck, Az’s hand on Crowley’s cheek. The demon pulled gently on his angel’s hand, guiding him softly back towards the bedroom. Aziraphale followed, stepping into the doorway of the room while Crowley collapsed on the bed, looking back towards his lover. Aziraphale was standing naked in a sunbeam, looking utterly divine, reminiscent of their first time seeing each other this way, the light glinting from his scars rather than bandages. 

“May I see your wings, love?” Crowley said, looking up at him with soft, pleading eyes. 

“I didn’t think you’d want to. Didn’t want to remind you,” Az answered in concern.

“Angel.” This was one of the few times since Hell that the pet name hadn’t made Aziraphale flinch automatically and it made Crowley’s heart soar. “I’m asking.”

The world shimmered like heat rising from pavement and Aziraphale’s beautiful full wings unfurled. Crowley slid off the bed and closed the distance between them, hands moving up to caress the already familiar places, the demon’s mouth on Aziraphale’s.

Crowley broke their kiss with a soft gasp, lifting a hand to rake his fingers across Aziraphale’s white feathers. Az shivered under his touch and nipped Crowley’s lip with his teeth. “Get on the bed, angel,” Crowley said breathily against Az’s cheek, guiding him with his hands. “Lay down.” 

Aziraphale backed towards the bed, reaching out behind him for the mattress, but Crowley said, “The other way round.” When Az looked up nervously, he added, “Don’t you trust me, angel?” Aziraphale looked a little more assured but his heart was hammering inside his chest and he wasn’t sure what to expect. 

Crowley pressed his hands into Aziraphale’s shoulder blades and the angel’s breath hitched. The demon dragged the pads of his thumbs over the two scars behind Az’s wings, tracing the edges of the white scar tissue. The angel had half a mind to ask what exactly Crowley was doing but before the words could leave his mouth, the demon’s hands had moved on, kneading the tense muscles of his back and working his way outwards and Aziraphale moaned. Crowley alternated between working out the knots in Az’s shoulders and stroking the downy white feathers, sending chills up the angel’s spine. 

As Aziraphle relaxed into the massage, his wings stretched to their full length, primary feathers brushing the walls of the room and casting a shadow over Crowley. The demon straddled Aziraphale’s hips to get a better angle and worked the heels of his palms into Az’s wing joints, scratching lightly at the feathers that ruffled under his fingers. 

Crowley ran his palms over the planes of his angel’s body, feeling the soft, pliant skin under his fingers. His fingertips traced the outlines of the shiny slick scar tissue delicately, careful that he didn’t elicit any lingering pain. “Ridged for my pleasure?” Crowley said with a rakish grin.

“Really, Crowley?”

Crowley kissed his the two scars on his back. “Really, Angel,” he said, tucking a white blond curl behind Aziraphale’s ear.

“All right, Crowley, lemme up.” The angel wriggled out from under him and sat on his knees on the mattress, just inches away from Crowley. The demon worked himself closer, enclosing Az with his arms and wrapping his legs around the other’s waist. 

  
  


“What, you didn’t like the massage?” Crowley pouted at him.

“No, it was nice…” Az trailed off, staring into the demon’s eyes. He could feel Crowley’s breath hitting his face and it was making goosebumps rise at all sites of contact from his lover. The demon smiled cheekily and leaned into kiss the scar over Aziraphale’s heart. The angel tangled his fingers in Crowley’s hair, raking his nails across the demon’s scalp. 

“Whatever are you doing?” Az said, resting his chin on Crowley’s head. 

“I’m kissing you better,” Crowley replied, moving his mouth up to the angel’s neck. Aziraphale huffed a laugh, cupped the back of the demon’s head and brought him in for a kiss. What started chaste soon deepened, Crowley’s tongue probing at his angel’s lips. 

“All right, now, angel, let me finish,” the demon said, pulling back so he could replace his mouth on his love’s neck. He placed kiss after kiss and then ran his tongue up the length of the scar, making Az shiver. Before he could say anything about it, Crowley moved back down to his chest, outlining the scar above his heart in kisses. 

“Crowley, you’re being-”

“Shh.” Crowley lifted a hand to toy with one of Az’s nipples, eliciting a gasp from him. “Like that, do you, angel?” Crowley chuckled against his skin, moving his mouth south of the scar and onto the other nipple.

Aziraphale never knew how sensitive his nipples were; he’d never really taken the time to explore that aspect of himself, but this felt just  _ divine. _ He clung to Crowley, his manicured nails digging into the demon’s back as Crowley twisted and pinched, sucked and tongue-flicked. Az thought he was going to come from that alone when the demon switched sides, placing his mouth on the other nipple and rubbing at the other with his fingers. Aziraphale didn’t know when he started breathing so heavily, but he was able to catch his breath again when Crowley started peppering kisses down his chest and over his stomach. 

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale groaned, shivering with want. “Touch me, you foul fiend.” Crowley chuckled again, running his tongue from the center of Az’s chest all the way down to his belly button. The demon was so close to him that he was only just barely brushing against Az’s hard cock and every touch was torture. But Crowley wasn’t going to give in so easily. Putting a hand on either thigh, he looked up at Aziraphale with half-lidded yellow eyes, licking his lips suggestively. And then he ducked his head. 

Aziraphale waited for the sweet wetness and pressure of Crowley’s mouth but it didn’t come. Instead, he felt light kisses on the scar on his inner thigh, teasing the flesh and riling Az up even more. Az was practically hyperventilating, his eyes dark like a summer thunderstorm and his hands tangled in Crowley’s hair, hanging on for dear life. This was something Crowley had always fantasized about-- having Aziraphale completely at his mercy, begging for his touch, falling apart under his lips. 

The angel was a whimpering mess, and he could barely get out the words he needed more than anything. “Crowley, I swear, I’ll- I’ll- I’ll _ discorporate  _ if you don’t place your mouth on me RIGHT NOW.” The hands in Crowley’s hair were shaking with pleasure. 

“But angel,” Crowley murmured, lips kissing the base of Aziraphale’s cock, “My mouth  _ is _ on you.” The demon blew cool air over his lover’s dick, which had been leaking precum for a few minutes. Crowley flicked out his tongue just enough to brush the head, lapping up the dampness. Aziraphale groaned, half from pain and half from pleasure. 

Crowley smirked and decided to finally just take pity on his poor lover. He’d never done this before but he was damn sure going to try-- after all, Aziraphale himself had provided an excellent demonstration. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Crowley wrapped his mouth around Az, trying to copy what the angel had done to him the first night they’d been together. The taste was more than he ever could have imagined; it was like he had his own angel-flavored lollipop and it was intoxicating. The smell of Aziraphale was so intense, Crowley could feel his own prick leaking without having been touched the entire time. 

Aziraphale strangled back a heavy moan and let go of Crowley’s hair, gripping whatever he could hold on to-- the tangled sheets, the metal bedframe. “Ah! Oh, Crowley, you gorgeous fiend, my best friend. Oh, yes, lover, just like that. So good, so good. Don’t stop, please. Oh, you’re so good!” Crowley dug his nails into Aziraphale’s hips in response, pulling yet another whimper from the angel. He hardly even realized he’d started thrusting his hips into the mattress automatically to relieve some of the tension there. 

“I- l- love you so much, I’ve wanted this for so- so long, wanted you, Crowley. Loved you since,” he gasped, “-forever. Oh, you’re perfect, lover, just the way you are, my beautiful Crowley.” Az panted out, his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. The demon felt his heart jolt with love and the carnal desire to do everything to please the being in his arms. Crowley pulled Aziraphale deeper with clawed hands, trying to take in as much as he could, to give himself totally to his angel. Breathing with so much of Aziraphale in his mouth was tough, but he was starting to figure it out. 

Crowley swallowed him up, slurping at the wetness and swirling his tongue around the head of Aziraphale’s cock, taking him deeper with every thrust. Suddenly Crowley hit just the right spot and hummed deep in his throat at the praise. Az let out a deep, guttural moan the demon never could have expected from him, so he hummed again, his throat vibrating against the angel’s prick. 

“Crow- Crowley, I’m- gunna, oh, Crowley-” Every noise he made was music to Crowley’s ears and he could feel the orgasm approaching from the angel underneath him, who’s every muscle had grown taut as a bow string. Aziraphale’s wings exploded outward as the orgasm overcame him, knocking everything off the side tables. Cold cocoa splattered across the two of them and the wall, but neither could summon the will to care. 

As Aziraphale descended from the heights of his orgasm, they stroked each other’s skin, cuddling and sharing soft kisses. The angel brushed Crowley’s hip quite by chance and realized he was still hard. Az sat up a little and looked at him; his golden yellow eyes didn’t betray anything. 

“You didn’t-”

“No. I was focused on you.” Crowley flashed an adoring smile, but when Az ran his fingers over his lover’s cock again, his mouth fell open and he let out an obscene noise. 

“Well let me return the favor, my dear.” Aziraphale dragged a thumb over the head of Crowley’s prick, wrapping his whole hand around it. “Show me how you like to be touched, love,” the angel said, gazing at him encouragingly. 

Crowley took a shuddering breath, and laid his hand over Aziraphale’s. While he started with long, slow pulls, the demon bit his lip as he added just a bit of a twist at the top. Aziraphale looked deep into Crowley’s eyes, pupils blown wide, and performed a minor miracle. The sudden lubrication was slick and wonderful and perfect. Crowley gasped, heart racing; he knew he wouldn’t last much longer but couldn’t bring himself to slow his pace. But Aziraphale stilled his hand, forcing Crowley to keen with the loss.

“Breathe with me?” Az asked quietly. 

Crowley’s eyebrows drew together in confusion, trying to parse what his lover was asking. 

Aziraphale looked down shyly, “We, um, kiss then you breath in as I breath out. We share the same air. I, I read about- maybe it’s a silly thought-” His words were cut off as Crowley surged forward to kiss him, bringing his hands up to cup Aziraphale’s face. 

“Angel,” he said, breaking the kiss and touching their foreheads together, “never hesitate to ask for what you want. I want you. I want you to want things. I want you to lust for me and to be my greedy hedonist again. Please?”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, voice drowning in his deep love for his demon. “Thank you.” The angel took the lead, kissing Crowley chastely for a moment before saying, “You breath out first, my love.”

They locked their open lips together then slowly, gently Crowley breathed into his angel. Aziraphale’s chest rose with the breath, and he held his lover’s air for a moment before gifting it back. Neither of them needed to breath, but this intense focus on the physicality of it had them heady from both the lack of oxygen and the sheer intimacy of the act. Their eyes shut and hearts began to race as the flow of air picked up, shuttling back and forth in smaller and smaller gasps. Aziraphale began moving his hand, still wrapped around Crowley’s slick cock, in time to their breathing, faster until he was swallowing his lover’s moans with their shared breath. 

With a primal yell, Crowley arched back, breaking the cycle and spilling out over his lover’s hand. Aziraphale waited for the post orgasmic tremors to cease, before locking eyes again with the demon. Az brought his cum drenched fingers to his lips, and with delicate licks and teasing suction he cleaned the mess he’d helped create. As he finished sucking the last lingering taste from his thumb, Aziraphale said, “I do believe, you’re my favorite flavor now- you’re just so sinfully good and addictive.”

Crowley found himself blushing, a novel sensation but not unwelcome. He cuddled closer and said, “Love you angel.”

“And I love you, Crowley, always and forever.”

  
  
  


X

Crowley was passing by the bedroom on the way downstairs to open the bookshop the next morning when something made him stop. He stood in the doorway, scanning the room. Something was amiss but he couldn’t put his finger on what. “Angel?” he said tentatively.

Aziraphale jumped a little and turned from his book to look at his lover. He was adorably rumpled in his blue cotton pajamas, hair even more unruly than normal. “Yes, my dear?” he said, pulling off his glasses. 

Crowley found himself enticed by his frumpy love. The store could wait. He leaned back against the door frame and angled his hips invitingly at Az. “Care for another go?”

“You’re incorrigible.”

"I don't know the meaning of the word," he said, stalking towards the bed.

“Oh, really, Crowley, you are the epitome of it.”

“No, Angel, explain it to me?” he said with a smirk plucking the book from his lover’s hands. 

Aziraphale gave a deep sigh but couldn’t help rise to the bait. “ A person or their obviously lascivious tendencies that are not able to be corrected, improved, or reformed.

“You want to reform me, angel?” quirking an eyebrow, and a wry smile. Faces close enough to kiss. 

“Never.”

Crowley put the book on the side table and realized what was missing.  “Finally throw out that old slice of cake?” he asked

“No.” Aziraphale said, his hands folded in front of him seriously. 

“Well what happened to it?” Crowley asked, leaning back to look at the angel’s face, curiosity getting the better of him. 

“I, uh… ate it.” Aziraphale was looking down, as though ashamed. 

“You what?” Crowley said this as he had said when he started their friendship 6000 years ago, and just as surprised.

“It was super stale. And awful. And I want to go to the Ritz for a  _ real  _ piece of cake-- if… if that’s all right.” Az risked a glance at the demon. 

It was the first time in months Aziraphale had eaten anything, and asking to go to the Ritz-

A slow, easy smile spread across Crowley’s face. “Of course, angel.” 

  
  



	14. Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments and kudos! You've overwhelmed us and it's been wonderful <3
> 
> Almost at the end now~~~

It was a quick jaunt to the Ritz, but they had hardly gotten there before Az asked him to turn the car around, overwhelmed. They ordered carry-out instead. Crowley was still all smiles. Eventually after several patient tries, they did get Az that cake. 

Aziraphale was now not just helping out in the bookshop, but was running it most days. Sometimes he had a day where he just couldn’t handle it and the bookshop either remained closed or (under Az’s  _ close  _ supervision) Crowley took over. 

One evening, Crowley brought Aziraphale his nightly hot cocoa to find him reading by the fire. Except he wasn’t reading-- his hands had fallen slack and he was barely hanging onto the book anymore, his gaze frozen on the crackling flames. He only looked up when he realized the demon was there. “Oh, Crowley-- sorry, you frightened me,” Aziraphale said straightening up in his chair. “ Listen, it occurs to me... If we cleansed my wounds with holy water, why not healing yours in a similar fashion?” 

“You might be good taking a bath in holy water but I’m still pretty sure I’d melt,” the demon said bitingly as he sprawled out on the old leather fainting sofa several feet away. 

“No, no, no! Not holy, really- unholy...demonic even.” Az corrected, setting down his book. 

“You mean-?”

“Yes.”

“Out of the question, angel.” Crowley said, sitting upright and looking rather grumpy. “I don’t want you anywhere near Hellfire, even if we had a way to bring it up to Earth- not to mention containing it!”

“But-”

“No!” he exclaimed, standing up. “I will not risk you, angel, not when I just got you back. No.” Crowley stalked off.

But Crowley was unable to get it off his mind. He paced the bookshop after Az had gone to bed, his shoes scuffing against the hardwood in frustration. Of all the idiotic things to suggest… it had taken months and a good deal of holy water to heal the angel and Aziraphale hadn’t even touched Hellfire directly. Given how hesitant Az had been to supply him with holy water in the 60’s, was it any surprise that he would be similarly hesitant? Hellfire could destroy an angel with one touch and Az wanted to bring it here, to Earth, probably to the bookshop-

Crowley stopped pacing and leaned back against a nearby bookshelf. A fire in the bookshop. He remembered in vivid detail the last time there had been a fire in the bookshop and it shook him to his very core. Pulling up alongside the shop in his Bentley, seeing the building ablaze-- how every cell of his being had screamed out for Aziraphale, had prayed, Satan forbid,  _ prayed  _ that the angel was all right. Running into the inferno and searching for Az, choking on the smoke and the fumes-- 

Believing Aziraphale was dead. Well, discorporated, at least. But at the time it had felt like he was dead. Like he’d never be able to see the angel again,  _ ever _ . Like it was the end. Crowley shook the unpleasant memories from his head and rubbed at his eyes with his hands, not in the least bit surprised to find them damp.

Crowley tripped over the rug in his pacing, knocking it askew, and saw the summoning circle embossed on the floor. A celestial containment sigil, that could do it. With the right adjustments, this thing would be able to hold it. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all-- he still wouldn’t want Aziraphale anywhere near it though. 

Crowley ran through a list of ingredients in his head and his heart sank. There was one thing they were missing, and it wasn’t exactly something they sold at the supermarket. Aside from blood and a touch of sulfur on the sigils, they needed what was effectively demonic kindling-- something that had been connected to Hell at some point. Without it, they couldn’t call so much as a matchstick down to Earth.

Crowley stopped pacing and looked up in realization. The feather. He glanced upwards in the direction the bedroom, remembering the night he could never forget. Aziraphale cradling one raven-black feather, croaking “I saved one”. They  _ had  _ demonic kindling and it was upstairs in a drawer in the side table. God had a little mercy after all. 

The only thing would be confining the Hellfire. Unchecked, the stuff was an uncontrollable inferno and it would take clever sigils and a little bit of skill (and luck) to contain it. 

X

After enduring Aziraphale’s relentless litany of “I told you so” for the day it took to prepare, the two of them stood there in anticipation, staring at the freshly redrawn sigil circle. 

“Do you have it?” Crowley glanced at the angel. Aziraphale nodded, cradling the black feather in his hands. It was the same one Beezlebub had spun between his fingers right before they were sent home. 

For the first time in two days, worry showed through on Aziraphale’s face. “Are you sure this is the only way?” he said clutching the precious feather to his chest.

“I’m sure,” Crowley lied. One feather meant one shot-- what if they were wrong? What if this didn’t work? What if he had strayed too far from Hell? Heaven had always been forgiving, but what if Hell wouldn’t accept him back? What if, without his demonic powers, he wasn’t immune to hellfire anymore? What if they called it here and it just burned him to a crisp in front of Aziraphale’s eyes? There were too many what if’s but this was his only chance; they had to risk it.

Crowley stooped to the floor and picked up the knife resting just outside the chalk lines. With a deep breath he stepped into the circle, which glowed faintly at his touch. This wasn’t going to be as simple as chalk lines and a few demonic phrases. Dragging the blade across his skin, the demon dipped his fingertips in the blood that welled there and started tracing it into arcane symbols on the floor. The shapes Crowley traced were so complicated and there were so many that he started to feel a little lightheaded over the blood loss. As he finished, Az went around the edge of the sigil, lighting the seven black candles obtained from a nearby grocery store. They were birthday candles, but they would have to do.

Aziraphale handed him the feather and the small lighter and asked again, “Crowley, dear, are you certain-”

“Hush, angel,” the demon said, summoning his denuded wings. He held the last of his feathers in his left hand and the lighter in his right, his thumb ready on the sparkwheel. Crowley gave Az a significant look and the angel took a few steps back, halfway hidden behind one of the columns. Taking a deep breath, Crowley struck the lighter and held the flame up to the feather. 

There was an explosion of light and sound as the feather caught and the hellfire was summoned. The feather slipped out of Crowley’s fingers and hung suspended in the inferno, glowing with molten intensity. Aziraphale trembled in fear at the sight of it, but did not look away. With the tunnel of roaring light and heat, the layperson may have worried that the bookshop would be up in flames in seconds but a combination of the sigil work and Aziraphale’s divine powers contained it safely. 

The second the hellfire had appeared made Crowley feel like he was sinking into a hot bath. The heat was a welcome relief after so long on a planet that was so blasted cold; it was stepping into the sunshine at the height of summer, a welcome blinding light that had him raising his wings in glory. And the taste-- the taste was the same he’d found on Aziraphale’s skin, sulphur and iron and ash all mottled into one. It was rejuvenating, drenched in the sheer power of it, the invigorating swirling roar of flame. 

Crowley’s clothes burned to ash, but the only thing Aziraphale could see clearly was a glow from his golden yellow eyes and the super-heated wings as the scars from the holy nail were burned away. Even the scar on his cheek flashed brightly for a moment before smoothing out to nothingness. As the flames licked his wings, they began to tingle. The burns from the holy nail were all but gone and the flesh was new and unmarked. The demon fell to his knees as new feathers stretched and punctured the smooth flesh, the prickly quills growing through the renewed skin. Blood dripped down their lengths, before evaporating in the heat of the Hellfire. 

As the candles shrank lower, so did the original feather. It was drawn to Crowley, first on its own, then by the demon reaching out to pull it close. The molten edges grew dark as the flames finally beginning to consume it, but Crowley still held it against his chest, so grateful to it for bringing forth the healing fire and to Aziraphale for being his sentimental love. The darkness spread through the barbs until the whole feather vane was pitch black and the quill was ash between Crowley’s fingertips. As it disintegrated, the Hellfire surged once more then died, the little birthday candles sputtering out in puddles of wax around the circle. 

Aziraphale came out from behind the column. Crowley looked… magnificent. Nude, full ebony wings out, rising up from the floor, reborn. Their demonic tinder had left an  indelible mark on his skin over his heart; an ashy feather a match to Az’ feather-shaped scar.  Crowley  lifted his face to meet Aziraphale’s gaze, the biggest most genuine grin breaking over his face. He stepped forward and caught the angel up in his arms. With a joyous laugh, he hefted Aziraphale off his feet and spun the angel around in a circle, wings brushing the columns. 

“Let me down!” Az cried out, his own laughter barely restrained.

Crowley brought him down, kissing his cheeks, his nose, all over his face until finally settling for a long proper kiss on his angel’s lips. Aziraphale melted into his arms as Crowley brought his wings to curl around both of them

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, hoping against hope, and snapped his fingers. When he opened them again, he looked down to see he was fully clothed. So it  _ had  _ worked-- he had his demonic powers back again. Crowley laughed delightedly and grabbed Az’s hand, twirling him around again in a circle. “Let’s go celebrate, angel!” 


	15. The Ties That Bind

It will end, as it began, at Tadfield Airbase. As it turns out, Heaven and Hell’s higher ups didn’t exactly approve of Beezlebub’s and Gabriel’s extracurricular activities. Two letters were delivered, one for each celestial being. Gabriel’s was finely pressed linen paper that smelled faintly of lavender with a gold wax seal binding the paper (he knew it was bad news the second he saw the seal-- the wax shimmered in the light and in the center of the seal was a sword with a glowing ball of light in the middle); Beezlebub’s was written on a torn shred of what looked like toilet paper flecked with blood. 

Besides the obvious visual difference, they both said the same thing: that the two were to report to Tadfield Airbase for managerial coaching. Neither Gabriel nor Beezlebub had ever been coached in their entire existence (Beezlebub had had a “talking to” but never a coaching), but they’d each known someone who  _ had  _ been coached; someone who had laughed it off and then never come back. Despite all of this information against them, all of the things that may persuade them to be properly afraid, both were comfortably arrogant that it was nothing more than a formality or possibly even a meeting to be promoted. 

But Beezlebub and Gabriel weren’t the only two to get letters. Two more letters were dispatched, marked for Crowley and Aziraphale and deposited onto the counter inside Az’s bookshop. The demon was the first to notice the celestial mail that evening when he was making his lover some hot cocoa. He saw them out of the corner of his eye as he turned to leave the kitchen and when his yellow eyes settled on them properly, he froze. He’d gotten celestial mail before, of course, so he knew what it was when he saw it, he just couldn’t imagine what it said. They couldn’t be in trouble again because the last time-- well, there had been much less formality. After all that had been done to them, their respective superiors wouldn’t bother with something as petty as the celestial postal service. 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley called from downstairs, not taking his eyes off the letters as though they were likely to burst into flame if he looked away. 

“Yes, darling?” the angel called back from the top of the stairs. 

“Could you come in here a moment?” 

A few moments later, Az was standing at his side, his dressing gown swirling around his ankles. Aziraphale looked at Crowley questioningly but followed his gaze and noticed the letters. The air stilled and the silence was palpable. 

“Are those-” Az started.

“I believe so, yeah,” Crowley replied, handing the angel the hot cocoa and taking a step towards the counter. 

“Crowley!”

“What?”

“You really think that’s a good idea?”

“It’s just a letter, angel,” Crowley said softly, almost as if to convince himself. He risked glancing back, then turned to fully face Aziraphale. “They can’t do anything to us that hasn’t already been done,” he said, stepping back and taking Az’s face in his hands. Aziraphale laid a hand over Crowley’s. 

“All right, love, just-- be careful. Please.” Az looked worried. Crowley gave a small nod and walked back over to the counter, poking at the envelopes with the spoon he’d originally brought for the cocoa. Nothing happened. Laying down the utensil, he picked up each letter and turned them over in his hands. 

“This one’s yours.” Crowley held the soft gold letter out to Aziraphale. Az stepped forward and took the paper, cracking open the wax seal and unfolding it. The demon watched his angel read his letter, his frown becoming more pronounced the further he got down the page. 

“What does yours say, Crowley?” Aziraphale said, looking up and lowering the letter. Crowley held his in disgust-- it had practically come from a dump, after all. It had something sticky like gum keeping his shut so he nearly had to tear it to pieces to get it open. 

“Uhh… ‘The forces of Hell would like to extend their condolences’-- condolences? Wait, is this--” Crowley squinted at the page, eyes roving over the words, “-- an  _ apology _ letter?” He looked up at Aziraphale. 

The angel shrugged. “That’s the way mine reads.” He held it out for inspection. The words were written in a stylized calligraphy that was just fancy enough to be considered over the top. 

_ To Principality Aziraphale,  _

_ Please accept our most sincere apologies in- _

_ _ Crowley looked up. “What  _ is  _ this?” Aziraphale shook his head. 

“It’s got a time, date, and location. Should we go?” Az said, holding the letter up again. 

“Time, date--  _ what?  _ Whatever for?” 

_ Please note that the actions the archangel Gabriel took against you and the demon Crowley were not approved by Heaven and he will face judgement for what he has done. If you will please be so kind as to-  _

_ _ They looked back up from the paper and shared a look. “It can’t be.  _ Can’t  _ be.” Crowley said, inspecting his own letter once again. 

_ Lord Beezlebub has been most disloyal and committed acts strictly forbade by- _

“Well, my darling. Lay out your Sunday best-- I do believe we have somewhere special to be tomorrow.” Aziraphale said with a soft smile. Crowley sneered at the concept of “Sunday best”. 

“I’m still not sure we should be going along with this,” Crowley said, gold eyes serious. 

“I’ve got a good feeling, my dear.” 

X

  
And so Crowley and Aziraphale turned up at Tadfield Airbase at the appointed time and location. Four figures waited for them out on the tarmac; two standing and two kneeling. The closer they got to the figures, the more relieved they felt. Gabriel and Beezlebub were the ones on the ground, arms chained behind their backs and their wings out and clamped with metallic traps. The one on Gabriel was cursed and the one on Beezlebub was blessed; both made the wearer sizzle slightly with every movement, every twitch, and blood dripped down the lengths of their wings. 

As the angel and the demon closed the distance, the gauntness of their torturers’ faces and dark circles under their eyes became clear. Behind the prisoners stood one of the bigger and more vicious demons, his monstrous form exposed; horns and claws and burning eyes that seemed to see into your very soul; and an angelic Dominion, all cold, calculating eyes and wings and light, no trace of humanity in its form. Aziraphale had never met the counterpart of Heaven looming over Gabriel but he knew at least that his name was Zadkiel. Crowley was familiar with the demon; he had been a Dominion once himself, and his name was Rosier. They had met for one of Crowley’s many commendations from Hell. 

“You have been judged and found wanting,” the Dominion boomed. 

“Now, beg, foul vermin, beg for forgiveness,” the demon hissed. The two moved in harmony like two halves of one nightmarish whole. The world held its breath at the words of the powerful entities, knowing that their combined might would crack the earth if disobeyed. The pair moved and spoke with an underlying air of practice. Aziraphale and Crowley alike both felt like they were part of an unwritten cosmic script that had been rehearsed since the beginning of time. 

“We were wrong,” Beezlebub said almost lazily, unable to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. He’d been through this centuries before, and wasn’t taking it as seriously as was warranted. The blessed clamps tightened around his wings with a creak and blood flowed faster towards the cracked pavement. “We presumed to know the ineffable plan,” he finished hoarsely, struggling to keep the pain out of his voice. 

“We neglected our duties and forgot our place,” Gabriel rushed to say, ever aware of the presence of his own wing clamps. “We took it upon ourselves to punish what belonged in the other’s realm.”  


Then, together, Beezlebub and Gabriel said, “We promise not to overstep our bounds ever again.” Zadkiel and Rosier directed their gazes at Crowely and Aziraphale, expectantly. The lovers were stunned in silence, not sure what to do next. 

“Satisfied?” The Dominion’s voice was like rushing wind. 

“Sorry, what?” Crowley said, confused. 

“You have to tell us that you’re satisfied with the apology. Those are the rules.” Rosier said impatiently.

“Uh, yes, yes we are satisfied, thank you very much,” Aziraphale said before Crowley could get them in any trouble with the powerful beings. 

“What rules?” Crowley said, bouncing on his toes and tucking his hands into his pockets. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale hissed. 

“This is an official disciplinary hearing,” Zadkiel declared. “The victims of the wrong-doing have to approve of the punishment. So it is written.” 

Rosier clarified, “Their actions were outside of their jurisdiction. Had Beezlebub tortured you, Crowley, and Gabriel tortured you, Principality Aziraphale, they never would’ve gotten into any trouble. But causing harm to a prisoner of war without the proper authorization is grounds for review.” 

Crowley ran his tongue across his teeth nervously. But before he could speak, Aziraphale drew close to him and said, “Well, then… aren’t we… er, lucky, that they broke protocol?” 

“Lucky indeed,” Rosier replied, looking down at the two captives dismissively. “They will be barred from all future interactions with either of you.”

“Have you further comments?” Zadkiel said to the two standing a distance away. 

Crowley shook his head mutely and Aziraphale said, “No, thank you. We’re quite appreciative of what’s already been done.” They only had another moment to regard the satisfying sight of Gabriel and Beezlebub manacled and obviously hurting before Rosier snapped his clawed fingers and the four of them disappeared, leaving Crowley and Az standing alone on the tarmac. The two of them blinked a few times to make sure they were really alone and then Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand in his, twining their fingers together. Crowley gave his hand a squeeze. 

X

They drove back in silence, Crowley doing the speed limit for once, both of them lost in thought. The demon readjusted his sunglasses and took a deep breath. They were free. Really free.  Would they learn to forget, though? Could they allow themselves to really relax and stop looking over their shoulders? Crowley knew he wouldn’t; he hadn’t for 6,000 years and he wasn’t going to let his guard down now, even when they were so assured of their freedom. 

Crowley realized Aziraphale was rummaging around in the glove compartment looking for something. “What is it, angel?” he said, glancing between Aziraphale and the road. Az didn’t answer; instead he selected one of the CDs and pushed it into the player on the Bentley. 

_ I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things, _

_ _ _ We can do the tango just for two- _

When Crowley looked back at Aziraphale he was smiling softly, blue eyes shining with the light of a thousand stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luna's A/N
> 
> Well, guys, gals, and non-binary pals. It's been a wild ride. This fic was so much fun to write and it has been so so so rewarding to post it and see all your reactions. Xi and I wrote this over the summer when I was working this ridiculous hours at Wal-Mart so I'd go into work at like 5 in the morning and spend all my breaks typing away on my computer. Dare I say, there were several break room onlookers who were *very* curious as to what I was doing but that didn't stop me. Just being able to write this and thoroughly explore what we'd do with these characters has been just incredibly rewarding, not to mention the person I wrote it with. Xi has been a wonderful artist, a friend, and someone who's been there for me as long as I've known them and I'm just so incredibly lucky to know them-- so, life lesson here: when someone offers to collab with you, ***take it***. I'm back in college now and it's my junior year so I've been busier this past month than I've been my entire life. Xi and I have several AUs we're currently co-writing and talking over, so hopefully I'll get some free time to pour into them soon. It's been such a pleasure hearing from all of you-- thanks again for your support and love <3
> 
> ***
> 
> Xidaer's A/N
> 
> And that wraps up Fallout! bye!
> 
> j/k
> 
> Co-writing with Luna has been one of the most joyous experiences I've had within fandom. It's been years since I've put my fingers to the keys to actually finish a plot bunny and with Luna we managed to finish Fallout in about six weeks. This journey made us fast friends and I feel privileged to be a part of Luna's life and creative endeavors. 
> 
> I've always been passionate about transformative works in fandom and now it seems I can't stop talking about fan fiction and upcoming plots with with anyone who will listen. I love being able to share my creative works and interact with those who read them- please know that I cherish every comment, kudos, bookmark, and keyboard smash. Expect a couple of spin-offs from the Fallout universe but then, as Luna mentioned, we're working on several AUs that we're both super excited about. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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